
Class "P<7f %Q/ 
Book .... */-b 



Copyright N?_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



I 



PIECES FOR : : : : 
PRIZE-SPEAKING 
CONTESTS ::::■: 



A collection of over one hun- 
dred pieces which have taken 
prizes in prize-speaking contests. 
Cloth, 448 pages. Price, $1.25. 



PUBLISHED BY 

HINDS & NOBLE 

4-5-6-J2-J3-J4 Cooper Institute, New York City 



PIECES 



FOR 



Every Occasion 



21 



COMPILED AND ARRANGED BY 

CAROLINE B. Le ROW 



Formerly Instructor of Elocution at Smith and Vassar Colleges 
Compiler of "A Well-planned Course in Reading" 



COPYRIGHT, iqoi, BY HINDS & NOBLE 



>"3 i -> -*:> 



HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers 
4 Cooper Institute New York City 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cores Received 

MAY. 9 1901 

Copyright entry 

CLASSc^XXc. N* 

COPY B. 






Of Interest to You 



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PEEFACE. 



How seldom it is that a teacher can find readily a 
good piece suitable for some special occasion like Arbor 
Day, or Decoration Day, or Washington's Birthday. 
In spite of the fact that there are hundreds of Speakers 
containing good selections, one invariably has to search 
through numberless compilations before finding the 
" right " piece for a given occasion. 

The present compilation has been prepared expressly 
to enable both teacher and pupil to find readily not 
merely some one piece for any special " day," but a 
good variety of pieces for that day, from which he may 
select according to his taste. A glance at the list of 
contents will show that great care and good taste have 
been exercised in selecting the several pieces for each 
of the many different occasions. Moreover, but few of 
the selections have ever appeared in any other com- 
pilation. 

Besides pieces for Lincoln's Birthday, Flag Day, 
Washington's Birthday, Arbor Day, Decoration Da} 7 , 
Graduation and Closing Days, Fourth of July, Thanks- 
giving Day, Christmas, and New Year's, will be found 
some good Temperance Selections, Concert Recita- 
tions, Pieces for Musical Accompaniment, together 
with a large number of declamations and recitations 
suitable for almost any other occasion. 



/ iv PREFACE. 

/ The observance of our Poets' Birthdays has become 

so pleasant and so edifying a custom in our schools, 
that pieces have been provided for these anniversaries 
also. 

All the selections are in harmony with the spirit of 
classroom work, which demands brevity, simplicity, 

\ good sense, and sound morality. 

Caroline B. Le Row. 
May 1, 1901. 



CLASSIFIED INDEX. 



Miscellaneous. 



TITLE 

A Battle, 

After Vacation, . . . 
A Good Name, .... 
Americanism, .... 

As Thy Day Thy Strength Shall Be, 
A Strange Experience, . 
A Swedish Poem, .... 
At Graduating Time, 
A Turkish Tradition, 
Before Vicksburg, 
Beside the Eailway Track, . 
* Commencement Day, 
Compromise of Principle, 
Employ Your Own Intellect, 

Failed, 

Flattering Grandma, 

Forward, 

Getting the Eight Start, 
Glimpses into Cloudland, 
How the Eansom Was Paid, 
"I Will Help You," 

Manhood, 

Means of Acquiring Distinction, . 

Mind Your Business, 

National Progress, 

Only a Little, .... 

Only a Little Thing, 

Only in Dreams, .... 

Our Country, .... 

Some Old School Books, 

Sparrows, 

The Amen of the Bocks, 
The American Constitution, 
The Angel of Dawn, 
The Barbarous Chief, 
The Beautiful in Creation, 

The Coast-Guard 

The Daily Task, .... 
The Domon on the Eoof, 



AUTHOR 

Charles Sumner, 



Joel Hawes, 
Henry Cabot Lodge, 



Josephine Pollard, 



PAGE 

. 55 

. 50 

. 5 

. 10 

. 1 

. 15 

. 66 

. 69 

. 76 



W. D. Potter, 

Henry Ward Beecher, 



Phillips Thompson, 



Adeline D. T. Whitney, 
Christian Gilbert, 
Alexander Hamilton, 
J S. Cutler, 
Eila Wheeler Wilcox, 
Timothy Dwight, 
Emily Huntington Miller, 
Marianne Earringham, 
Josephine Pollard, 



Susan Coolidge, . . .18 

Joseph Gilbert Holland, . 
Henry Wadsioorth Longfellow 

Wolstan T)ixey, . 
George K. Morris, 
Sydney Smith, . 
Wolstan Dixey, . 
William McKinley, . 
Dora Goodale, 
Mrs. M. P. Handy, . 
Joseph Gilbert Holland, . 
Epes Sargent, 



. 9 
. 71 
. 84 
. 51 
. 83 
. 57 
. 24 
. 61 
. 43 
. 31 



VI 



Classified Index. 



Miscellaneous— Continued. 



TITLE AUTHOR PAGE 

The Drawbridge Keeper, . . . Henry Abbey \ .... 80 

The Friend of My Heart, ... 58 

The Inquiry, Charles Mackay, . . .62 

The Light-house, . 25 

The Little Grave, 53 

The Little Messenger of Love, . 13 

The Monk's Vision, .... 75 

The Old Stone Basin, .... Susan Coolidge, ... 46 

The People's Holidays, .... Marianne Farningham, . . 54 

The Permanence of Grant's Fame, . James G. Blaine, . . .26 

The Silver Bird's Nest, .... 67 

The Southern Soldier, .... Henry W. Grady, . . . 59 
The Unconscious Greatness of Stonewall 

Jackson, Moses D. Hodges. D. D., . .71 

The University the Training Camp of the 

Future, Henry W. Grady, ... 76 

Things to Remember, .... 7 

True Heroism, 47 

True Liberty, Frederick William Robertson, . 45 

True Patriotism is Unselfish, . . George William Vvrtis, . . 17 

" Wash Dolly up Like That," . Eleanor Kirk Ames, . . 42 

What of That? 20 

"What's the Lesson for To-day! . 50 

When Grandpa Was a Little Boy, . Malcolm Douglas, . . . 35 



Concert Recitations. 



Cavalry Song 


Edmund C. Stedman, 




Songs of the Seasons, . . , 


Meta E. B. Thome, 




Song of the Steamer Engine, 


C. B. LeRow, 




Summer Storm, .... 


James Russell Lowell, 




The Cataract of Lodore, 


Robert Southey, 




The Charge at Waterloo, 


Walter Scott, 




The Child on the Judgment Seat, 


E. Charles, 




The Coming of Spring, 


Wilhelm Mutter, 




The Death of Our Almanac, 


Henry Ward Beecher, 




The Good Time Coming, 


Charles Mackay, 




The Sorrow of the Sea, 


a b. a 




The Two Glasses, .... 


C. B. a., . 




Two Epitaphs, .... 


From the Ge?'?nan, 




Wno is It? . ... 







107 
85 
92 
91 

105 
90 
95 
87 

100 



97 
104 



Selections for Musical Accompaniment. 

A Winter Song "St. Nicholas" . . . .111 

Extract from Hiawatha's Wedding Feast, Henry Wadsworfh Longfellow. 11(> 

Hope's Song, Helen M. Winslow, . . .110 

Rock of Ages. EUa Maud Moore, . . .114 

The Angelas Frances L. Mace, . . .109 

The Concert Rehearsal, . . . Wolstan Dixey, . . .113 

The Sunrise Never Failed Us Yet, . Celia Thaxter, . . . .111 



Classified Index, 



VII 



Poets' Birthdays. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



TITLE 


AUTHOR 


PAGE 


A Bryant Alphabet, 


Compiler, * 


. 119 


Extract concerning Biyant, . 


Rev. Henry W. Bellows, 


. 118 


" " " 


John Bigelow, . 


. 117 


It 44 it 


George William Curtis, 


. 118 


tt It tl 


Edwin P. Whipple, . 


. 118 


Green River 


William Cullen Bryant, 


. 125 


The Hurricane, .... 


tt tt tt 


. 124 


The Night Journey of a River, 


it tt it 


. 123 


The Third of November, 


tt it ti 


. 123 


The Violet, 


ti it t« 


. 125 


To William Cullen Bryant, . 


Fitz- Greene Halleck, 


. 117 


Ralph Waldo Emerson. 




Art, 


Ralph Waldo Emerson, 


. 133 


An Emerson Alphabet, 


Compiler, 


. 128 


Emerson, 


Elizabeth C. Kinney, 


. 126 


Extract concerning Emerson, 


Rev. C. A. Bartol, . 


. 127 


" " " 


George Willis Cooke, . 


. 127 


'* " 


Oliver Wendell Holmes, 


. 127 


tt tt • it 


Protap Ckunder Mozoomdar, . 128 


tt It " . . 


Hm^ace E. Scudder, . 


. 126 


" from " Compensation," . 


Ralph Waldo Emerson, 


. 131 


" " " Works and Days," 


tt tt tt 


. 132 


The Concord Fight, 


tt t< tt 


. 132 


The Rhodora, 

Oliver Wen 


It !< il 

dell Holmes. 


. 133 


A Holmes Alphabet, 


Compiler, 


. 137 


Extract' concerning Holmes, 


George William Curtis, 


. 136 


it tt it 


Charles W. Eliot, 


. 135 


tt tt tt 


Wm. Sloane Kennedy, 


. 136 


tt tt tt 


Rev. Ray Palmer, 


. 135 


it tt tt 


Frances H. Underwood, 


. 135 


International Ode, .... 


Oliver Wendell Holmes, 


. 142 


James Russell Lowell's Birthday Festi 


v&\, " " *' 


. 143 


Our Autocrat, 


John Greenleaf Whittier, 


. 134 


The Two Streams, .... 


Oliver Wendell Holmes, 


. 142 


Under the Washington Elm, 


it tt t< 


. 141 


Henry Wadswo 


rth Longfellow. 




A Longfellow Alphabet, 


Compiler, . 


. 146 


Charles Sumner, .... 


Henry Wadsworth Longfe 


'low, 152 


Extract concerning Longfellow, . 


George William Curtis, 


. 14P 


tt tt <t 


Rev. 0. B. Frothingham, 


. 145 


tt tt tt 


Rev. M. J. Savage, 


. 146 


it tt tt 


Richard H. Stoddard, 


. 145 


i< tt tt 


, John Greenltaf Whittier, 


. 144 


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, . 


William W. Story, . 


. 144 



Vlll 



Classified Index. 



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow— Continued. 



TITLE 

Loss and Gain, 

Musings, . 

The City and the Sea, 



AUTHOR PAGE 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 151 
150 
151 



James Russell Lowell. 



Abraham Lincoln, . 
A Lowell Alphabet, 
Extract concerning Lowell, 



Freedom, 

The First Snowfall, 

To James Russell Lowell, 

Wendell Phillips, . 



James Russell Lowell, 
Compiler, 

David W. Bartlett, . 
Rev. H. R. Haweis, . 
'■'■North British Review, 
W. C. Wilkinson, 
Fiances H. Underwood, 
James Russell Lowell, 

Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
James Russell Lowell, 



John Greenleap Whittier. 



A Whittier Alphabet, . 
Extract concerning Whittier, 



The Light that is Felt, . 
The Moral Warfare, 
To Children of Girard, Pa. 
John G. Whittier, . 



Compiler, 
John Bright, 
Horace E. Scudder, . 
Richard H. Stoddard, 
Frances H. Underwood, 
Rev. David A. Wasson, 
John Greenleaf Whittier, 



James Russell Lowell, 



Temperance. 



It Is Coming, . 
The Cry of Personal Liberty, 
The Great National Scourge, 
The Temperance Pledge, 

Water 

Words of Cheer, . 



M. Florence Mosher, . 
Rt. Rev. Bishop Ireland, 



Thomas Francis Marshall, 



Thomas H. Barker, 



The Seasons. 



An April Day, . 
An Autumn Day, 
A Song of Waking, 
A Summer Day, 
December, 
Early Autumn, 
Faded Leaves, 
Frost Work, 
Indian Summer, 
January, . 



Mrs. Southey, 
Margaret E. Songster, 
Katharine Lee Bates, 

Louisa Parson* Hopkins, 
Dart Farrthome, 
Alice Cary, 
Mary E. Bradley, 
John Greenleaf Whittier, 
Rosaline /•'. Jones, 



161 
156 
155 
155 
154 
155 
154 
162 
159 
153 
161 



165 
165 
164 
164 
163 
164 
1T0 
169 
169 



175 
179 
172 
177 
171 
174 



184 
191 
181 
1S7 
196 
190 
193 
198 
188 
197 



Classified Index. 



IX 



The Seasons— Continued. 



TITLE 

June, 

May, .... 

November, 

October, . 

September, 1815, 

Talking in Their Sleep, 

The Spring, 

The Voice of Spring, 

Winter, 



Hartley Coleridge, 
William Cullen Bryant, 
William Wordsioorth, 
Edith M. Thomas, 
Mary llowitt, 
Mrs. Hemans, 
Robert Southey, . 



PAGE 

. 187 
. 186 
. 195 
. 189 
. 189 
. 194 
. 182 
. 183 
. 195 



Flowers. 



A Bunch of Cowslips, 
A September Violet, 
Chrysanthemums, . 

Daffodils, 

Ferns, ..... 

Flower Dreams, 

Golden Rod, .... 

No Flowers, .... 

Oh, Golden Rod, . 

Ragged Sailors, 

Roses, . . 

Sweet Peas, .... 

The Daisy, .... 

The Golden Flower, 

The Message of the Snow-Drop, 

The Trailing Arbutus, 

The Wild Violet, . 

To the Dandelion, . 



Mrs. Mary E. Dodge, 
Robert Heirick, . 



Lucy Larcom, 
W. L Jaquith, 



John Mason Good, 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, 



John Greenleaf Whittier, 
Hannah F. Gould, 
James Russell Lowell, 



213 
216 
203 
201 
200 
210 
199 
211 
2C9 
210 
207 
206 
215 
201 
208 
202 
203 



Lincoln's Birthday. 



Abraham Lincoln, .... 
Abraham Lincoln's Place in History, 
Abraham Lincoln, the Martyr, 
Address of Abraham Lincoln, 
Lincoln 



James A. Garfield, . 
Bishop John P. Newman, 
Henry Ward Beecher, 



Lincoln's Birthday, 
The Religious Character 
Lincoln, 



Ida Vose Woodbury, 



of President 



Rev. P. D. 



D.D. 



217 
226 
230 
220 
225 



Washington's Birthday. 



Hezekiah Butterworth, 



Crown Our Washington, 

George Washington . 

Original Maxims of George Washington, . . . . 

Our Washington, . . . . . Eliza W. Durbin % 



240 
245 
246 
237 



' 



Washington's Birthday— Co /it in ued. 



TITLE 

The Birthday of Washington , 
The Character of Washington, 

W titfa of Washier:'' n, 
J.OTJ of Washington. 
The Twenty-second of February, 
The Unselfishness of Washington, 
The Washington Monument, 

Washington 

Washington a Model for Youth, . 
Washington's Birthday, . 
Washington's Fame, 
Washington's Training, 



AUTHOR 

. 
Lodgt. . 
->t. 
E. Everett. 

- yant, 
- 
Booert C. Wlnthrop, . 



Timothy Diright, 
Morgan B 5 

. 
corth rpham 



PAGE 

. 252 

. as 

. 253 



. 234 
. 231 

. 241 



Arbor Day. 



Arbor Day History, .... 
Every -day Botany, .... 

Song of Arbor Day, .... 
Song of the Maple, .... 

Plant a Tree 

The Cedars of Lebanon, 

The Little Brown Seed in the Furrow, 

The Pine Tree 

The Song of the Pine, .... 
The Tree's Choice. .... 

Three Trees 

What Do We When We P!:nt the Tree? 



K. G. WeUs. 


. 255 


Perry. 




5 


- 


B. M.Stn 


. S71 


Lmafl . . 


- 


E. Law Ion, 


1 


Ida TT. Be /.ham. 


. 262 




. 


Buckham. 


. 264 


. 




rmmdmM, 


- ■ 


. 





Decoration Day. 



A Ballad of Heroes, 
Arm\ of the Potomac, . 
Between the Graves, 
Decoration Day, 
Decoration Hymn, . 
F.owers for the Brave, . 
Flowers for the Fallen Heroes, 
For Our Dead, 
Little Xan 



- 



• Pracott Si-qfford, 

B 

. . 
E. W. . . . 

Clinh 



Memorial Day. 

Ode for Decoration Day, 

O Martyrs Nambei - 

Our Comrades. 

Our Heroes' Graves. 

Onr Honored Hero - 

Comrades. S 
Tne Heroes' Day. . 
The Silent Grand Army, 
The Soldier's Burial, 



MM, . 



. 295 

- - 

. 286 

H 
- 






E. M. B 



- a 

K 

m 
i 

i 



Classified Index. 



XI 



Flag Day. 



TITLE 

No Slave Beneath the Flag, 
Ode to the American Flag, 
Our Cherished Flag, 
Our Flag, .... 
"Rally Round the Flag! " 
The American Flag, 
The Flag, 

The Flag of Our Country, 
The Flower of Liberty, . 
The Stars and Stripes, . 



AUTHOR 

George Lansi?ig Taijlor, 

Joseph Rodman Drake, 

Montgomery, 

Henry Ward Beecher, 

A. L. Stone, 

Henry Ward Beecher, 

Henry Lynden Flash, 

Robert C. Winthrop, 

Oliver Wendell Holmes, 



July Fourth. 



A New National Hymn, 

"Fourth of July," . 

Freedom's Natal Day, . 

The Declaration of Independence 

The Nation's Birthday, . 

The New Liberty Bell, . 

The Principles of the Revolution, 



Francis Marion Craivford 
J. Pierpo?it, 
Elizabeth M. Qriswold, 
John Qui ncy Adams, 
Mary E. Vandyne, 
H B. C, . 
Josiah Quincy, . 



PAGE 

. 307 
. 312 
. 301 
. 311 
. 305 
. 301 
. 305 
. 299 
. 310 
. 308 



. 319 

. 323 
. 320 
. 301 
. 317 
. 323 

. ai5 



Labor Day, 

Idleness a Crime, Henry B. Carrington, 

Knights of Labor, T. V. Powderly, 

Labor, Rev. Orville Dewey, . 

No Excellence without Labor, . . . William Wirt, . 

Opportunity to Labor, .... Thomas Brackett Reed, 

The Dignity of Labor, .... 

Toil, 

Work, Thomas Carlyle, 



339 
342 
334 
337 
332 



. 338 



Thanksgiving. 



A Thanksgiving Prayer, 

For a Warning, 

Give Thanks, .... 

Harvest Hymn, 

How the Pilgrims Gave Thanks, 

Our Thanksgiving Accept, . 

Thanksgiving, 

" Among the Greeks, 

" " " Jews, 

" for His House 

" Hymn, 
Ode, . 
Thanksgivings of Old, . 
That Things are No Worse, S 
The First Boston Thanksgiving— July, 1631, 
The First English Thanksgiving in New 
York 



sire, 



C. B. Le Row, . 

John G-reenleaf WJiittier 



W. D. Howells, 



Robert Herrick, 

John Oreenleaf Whittier 
E. A. Smidler, . 
Helen Hunt Jackson, 



357 
354 
3C0 
300 
345 
362 
353 
343 
341 
359 
357 
358 
361 
352 



344 



Xll 



Classified Index. 



TITLE 

The First National Thanksgiving, 
The First Thankgiving Proclamation 

Issued by George Washington, 
The Day of Thanksgiving, 
The Old Thanksgiving Days, 



Henry Ward Beecher, 
Ernest W. Shu?(leff, 



349 
353 
350 



Washington's Proclamation, . 346 

Christmas. 



A Christmas Thought, .... 
" " about Dickens, 

" Question, 

A Merry Christmas and A Glad New Year, 

A Schemer, 

A Secret, 

A Telephone Message, .... 

Bells of Yule 

Christmas Bells, 

" in Olden Time, 

" Roses, 

Ode on Christmas, 

Old Christmas, . . . ■ . 

" Quite Like a Stocking," 

The Day of Days, 

The Christmas Peal, ..... 
The Little Christmas-Tree, . 
The Little Mud-Sparrows, 
The Merry Christmas-Time, 

The Nativity, 

The Star in the West, .... 



Lucy Larcom, . 
Bertha S. Scranton, 
Rev. Minot J. Savage, 
George Cooper, 
Edgar L. Warren, 
Mrs. G. M. Howard, 



Alfred Tennyson, 

Henry Wads worth Longfellow, 

Sir Walter Scott, 

May Riley Smith, 

J. E. Clinton, 



Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 



Harriet Prescott Spofford, 
Susan Coolidge, 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, 
George Arnold, 
Louisa Parsons Hopkins, 
Hezekiah Putterworth, 



New Years. 



Address to the New Year, 

A New Year, . 

A New Year's Address, 

A New Year's Guest, 

Another Year, 

Dawn of the Century, 

Grandpa and Bess, 

New Year's Day, 

New Year's Resolve, 

Next Year, 

One More Year, 

On the Threshold, . 

Ring, Joyful Bells! 

The Book of the New Year, 

The Child and the Year, 

The New Year, 

The Passing Year, . 



Dinah Unlock Craik, 
Margaret E. Songster, 
Edicard Brooks, 
Eliza F. Mo? iarty, . 
Thomas O'Hagan, 
Anna H. Thome, 
Emily Huntingdon Miller 



Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 
Nora Perry, 
A. Norton, 
A. H. Baldwin, 

Violet Fuller, 



Ceiia Thaxter, 
George Cooper, 



387 
372 
385 
3C4 



379 
376 
380 
307 
365 
3(53 
371 
374 
370 
366 
378 
375 
384 



407 
390 

409 



403 



400 
397 
401 
402 
396 
405 
405 
?98 



PIECES FOR EYERY OCCASION. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 

As Thy Day Thy Strength Shall Be. 

There are stepping-stones in the deepest waters 
That firmly meet the tides of human life; 

And havens safe from every storm that gathers, 
And issues out of every human strife. 

There is no cloud that sunshine does not follow, 
Nor pain without its solace in the end; 

There is no day but that the coming morrow 
Will bring some balm, the passing ills to mend. 

There is no bond of friendship's firmest tying 
Which threatened parting does not closer weave; 

The very gifts that love delights to squander, 
By love's great law the givers richer leave. 

Not here shall all our hopes grow to fruition, 
Nor yet our fears reach half their fancied ills; 

One hour comes vaulting pride, the next, contrition: 
Now doubt, now faith, our mortal spirit fills. 

But heavenward, with kindly radiance glowing, 

A slight perennial, beyond the grave, 
Doth promise solace, balmy peace bestowing, 

To prove that trials here but bless and save. 



2 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Manhood. 

George K. Morris. 

Life's best prizes are won, not by adroitness nor 
sharpness, not by skill or strength, but by that 
grandest thing known on earth, Manhood. Honora- 
ble, educated, active, cultivated manhood is to rule 
this world. 

Always there have been bad men, corrupted, de- 
graded, but sharp and cunning, who have made great 
gains by great frauds, or crafty swindling, and have 
held some sort of position in the world in spite of 
their want of character, for there are parasites and 
money-worshippers who honor and applaud the man of 
money without caring to know how he came by his 
possessions. But these are the exceptions. 

The true man is, yet, the thing most prized by the 
great world. True manhood is the wisest, sharpest, 
strongest, most clear-sighted, far-sighted contestant in 
the battlefield of life. Manhood carries the sharpest 
sword, gains the truest success, and wears the brightest 
crown. No one is, or can be, the best preacher, the 
best lawyer, the best physician, or the best business 
man, who is not truly, grandly, gloriously, and un- 
selfishly a man. 

If you would climb to the high places, carry off the 
richest prizes, get the most enjoyment out of life, and 
have the sublimest old age, you must conquer the base 
elements of nature; you must have every atom of the 
dross of dishonesty squeezed, hammered, burned out, 
if necessary; you must become as sound as twenty-four- 
karat gold, as true as best steel. You must prove 
yourself as reliable as the course of nature, as incor- 



Miscellaneous Selections. 3 

ruptible as sunlight, as pure and sweet in your per- 
sonality as the breezes of Heaven. You must scorn 
all meanness, loathe all false pretense, be afraid of 
every kind of dishonesty, and hate a lie as you would 
hate the devil himself. You must determine stoutly 
to be what you would appear. 

There is a premium on men like that. The great 
world, disgusted with frauds and pretenders and shams 
of all kinds, will know such a man as soon as he ap- 
pears. It will prize him, honor him, reward him, make 
him famous, and render him immortal. 



"I Will Help You." 

WOLSTAN DlXEY. 

A frosty chill was in the air — 

How plainly I remember — 
The bright autumnal fires had paled, 

Save here and there an ember; 
The sky looked hard, the hills were bare, 
And there were tokens everywhere 

That it had come— November. 

I locked the time-worn school-house door, 

The village seat of learning, 
Across the smooth, well-trodden path 

My homeward footsteps turning; 
My heart a troubled question bore, 

And in my mind, as oft before, 
A vexing thought was burning. 

" Why is it up-hill all the way? " 

Thus ran my meditations; 
The lessons had gone wrong that day, 

And I had lost my patience. 



Pieces for Every Occasion. 

" Is there no way to soften care, 
And make it easier to bear 
Life's sorrows and vexations ? ' 

Across my pathway, through the wood, 

A fallen tree was lying; 
On this there sat two little girls, 

And one of them was crying. 
I heard her sob: " And if I could, 
I'd get my lessons awful good; 

But what's the use of trying ? " 

And then the little hooded head 
Sank on the other's shoulder, 
The little weeper sought the arms 

That opened to enfold her. 
Against the young heart kind and true, 
She nestled close, and neither knew 

That I was a beholder. 

And then I heard— ah! ne'er was known 
Such judgment without malice, 

Nor queenlier counsel ever heard 
In senate-house or palace! — 

"I should have failed there, I am sure. 

Don't be discouraged, try once more; 
And I will help you, Alice." 

" And I will help you." This is how 

To soften care and grieving; 
Life is made easier to bear 

By helping and by .giving. 
Here was the answer I had sought, 
And I, the teacher, being taught 

The secret of true living. 

If " I will help you" were the rule, 
How changed beyond all measure 

Life would become ! Eacli heavy load 
Would be a golden treasure; 



Miscellaneous Selections. 

Pain and vexation be forgot; 
Hope would prevail in every lot, 
And life be only pleasure. 



A Good Name. 

Joel Hawes. 

It is ever to be kept in mind that a good name is 
in all cases the fruit of personal exertion. It is not 
inherited from parents; it is not created by external 
advantages; it is no necessary appendage of birth or 
wealth or talents or station, but the result of one's 
own endeavors, the fruit and. reward of good princi- 
ples, manifested in a course of virtuous and honora- 
ble action. The attainment of a good name, whatever 
be the external circumstances, is wholly within the 
young man's power. However humble his birth, or 
obscure his condition, he has only to fix his eye on 
the prize and press toward it, in a course of useful and 
virtuous conduct, and it is his. How many of our 
worthiest and best citizens have risen to honor and 
usefulness by dint of their own persevering exertions! 

In the formation of character, personal exertion is 
the first, the second, and the third virtue. A good 
name will not come without its being sought. All the 
virtues of which it is composed are the result of un- 
tiring application and industry. Nothing can be more 
fatal to the acquirement of a good character than a 
treacherous confidence in external advantages. These, 
if not seconded by your own exertions, will drop you, 
mid-way: or perhaps you will not have started, while 
the diligent traveler will have won the race. 



6 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

It is of the highest importance that you have a 
commanding object in view, and that your aim in life 
be elevated. It is an old proverb, that " he who aims at 
the sun, to be sure, will not reach it, but his arrow will 
fly higher than if he aimed at an object on the level 
with himself." Just so in the formation of character. 
Set your standard high, and you cannot fail to rise 
higher than if you aimed at some inferior excellence. 
Young men are not, in general, conscious of what they 
are capable of doing. They do not task their faculties, 
nor improve their powers, nor attempt, as they ought, 
to rise to superior excellence. The consequence is 
that their efforts are few and feeble; they are not 
waked up to anything . great or distinguished, and 
therefore fail to acquire a character of decided worth. 

You may be whatever you resolve to be! Res- 
olution is omnipotent! Aim at excellence, and excel- 
lence will be attained. " I cannot do it " never accom- 
plished anything; "I will try? has wrought wonders. 
A young man who sets out in life with a determina- 
tion to excel can hardly fail of his purpose. There is, 
in his case, a steadiness of aim, a concentration of feel- 
ing and effort, which bear him onward to his object 
with irresistible energy, and render success in what- 
ever he undertakes, certain. 



Flattering Grandma. 

"There never was a grandma half so good! " 
He whispered, while beside her chair lie stood 

And" laid his rosy cheek, 

With manner very meek, 
Against her dear old face in loving mood. 



Miscellaneous Selections, 1 

" There never was a nicer grandma born; 
I know some little boys must be forlorn 

Because they've none like you; 

I wonder what I'd do 
Without a grandma's kisses night and morn ? " 

" There never was a dearer grandma — there ! " 

He kissed her and he smoothed her snow-white hair, 

Then fixed her ruffled cap, 

And nestled in her lap, 
"While grandma, smiling, rocked her old arm-chair. 

"When I'm a man, what lots to you I'll bring: 
A horse and carriage and a watch and ring, 

All grandmas are so nice ! 

(Just here he kissed her twice) 
And grandmas give a boy 'most anything." 

Before his dear old grandma could reply, 
This boy looked up, and, with a roguish eye, 

Then whispered in her ear 

That nobody might hear: 
"Say, grandma, have you any more mince pie?" 



Things to Remember. 

A max cannot whip the world. Let him make up 
his mind to that at the very start, for the world has 
strength in its arms that no assault can batter down, 
no industry or perseverance can tire. Xo energy will 
bend these arms, no amount of pluck will break them. 
All a man's best efforts will be worse than thrown 
away if he undertakes to keep up any foolish sparring 
with this big world. Xo, no! The right way is to 
make friends with the world immediately, and tackle 
something smaller. 



8 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The world will be glad of your friendship, too, for 
it wants you and needs you; it has something for you 
to do. If you will find out what that is and go at it, 
then your brains and energy will work wonders. 

If the world wants you for a surgeon and you try 
to be a farmer, you will fail; if the world wants you 
to invent machinery and you undertake to be a musi- 
cian, you will fail; if the world wants you for a teacher 
and you ship for a sailor, you will fail; if the world 
wants you to sing and you persist in making shoes, you 
will fail — at the end of all your efforts failure will be 
written if you try to do what the world doesn't want 
you to do. 

The world wants and needs every man to do what 
he is by nature fitted for and what he can do best; 
he may have a hard struggle in doing this at first, 
but he is bound to win if he has pluck, for the world 
is on his side. But if a man is working contrary to 
his natural aptitude the whole world is against him; 
whatever his immediate, apparent success, he will be 
ultimately, and must be inevitably — a failure. 

The wise man will not fight against the world; but 
with it. The world is big and strong and he is little 
and weak; no matter how much energy and talent he 
has, no matter how good he is, the world is sure 
to beat. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 
Some Old School-books. 

I have been back to my home again, 

To the place where I was born; 
I have heard the wind from the stormy main 

Go rustling through the corn; 
I have seen the purple hills once more; 

I have stood on the rocky coast 
Where the waves storm inland to the shore; 

But the thing that touched me most 

Was a little leather strap that kept 

Some school-books, tattered and torn! 
I sighed, I smiled, I could have wept 

When I came on them one morn; 
For I thought of the merry little lad, 

In the mornings sweet and cool, 
If weather was good, or weather bad, 

Going whistling off to school. 

My fingers undid the strap again, 

And I thought how my hand had changed, 
And half in longing, and half in pain, 

Backward my memory ranged. 
There was the grammar I knew so well, — 

I didn't remember a rale; 
And the old blue speller, — I used to spell 

Better than any in school; 

And the wonderful geography 

I've read on the green hill-side, 
When I've told myself I'd surely see 

All lands in the world so wide, 
From the Indian homes in the far, far West, 

To the mystical Cathay. 
I have seen them all. But Home is best 

When the evening shades fall gray. 



10 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

And there was the old arithmetic, 

All tattered and stained with tears; 
I and Jamie and little Dick 

"Were together in by -gone years. 
Jamie has gone to the better land; 

And I get now and again, 
A letter in Dick's bold, ready hand, 

From some great Western plain. 

There wasn't a book, and scarce a page, 

That hadn't some memory 
Of days that seemed like a golden age, 

Of friends I shall no more see. 
And so I picked up the books again 

And buckled the strap once more, 
And brought them over the tossing main; 

Come, children, and look them o'er. 

And there they lie on a little stand 

Not far from the Holy Book; 
And his boys and girls with loving care 

O'er grammar and speller look. 
He said, ' ' They speak to me, children dear, 

Of a past without alloy; 
And the look of Books, in promise clear, 

Of a future full of joy." 



Americanism. 

Henry Cabot Lodge. 

" Americanism " of the right sort we cannot have 
too much of. By Americanism I do not mean that which 
had a brief political existence more than thirty years 
ago. That movement was based on race and sect, 
and was, therefore, thoroughly un-American, and 



Miscellaneous Selections. 11 

failed, as all un-American movements have failed in 
this country. True Americanism is opposed utterly 
to any political divisions resting on race and religion. 
To the race or to the sect which as such attempts to 
take possession of the politics or the public education 
of the country true Americanism says, " Hands off!" 

The American idea is a free church in a free state, 
and a free and unsectarian public school in every ward 
and in every village, with its doors wide open to the 
children of all races and of every creed. It goes still 
further and frowns upon the constant attempt to di- 
vide our people according to origin or extraction. Let 
every man honor and love the land of his birth and 
the race from which he springs and keep their mem- 
ory green. It is a pious and honorable duty. But let 
us have done with British- Americans and Irish-Ameri- 
cans and German- Americans, and all be Americans — 
nothing more and nothing less. If a man is going to 
be an American at all, let him be so without any 
qualifying adjectives, and if he is going to be some- 
thing else, let him drop the word American from his 
personal description. 

Mere vaporing and boasting become a nation as lit- 
tle as a man. But honest, outspoken pride and faith 
in our country are infinitely better and more to be 
respected than the cultivated reserve which sets it 
down as ill-bred and in bad taste ever to refer to our 
country except by way of depreciation, criticism, or 
general negation. We have a right to be proud of our 
vast material success, our national power and dignity, 
our advancing civilization, carrying freedom and edu- 
cation in its train. But to count our wealth and tell 
our numbers and rehearse our great deeds simply to 



12 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

boast of them is useless enough. We have a right to 
do it only when we listen to the solemn undertone 
which brings the message of great responsibilities — 
responsibilities far greater than the ordinary political 
and financial issues, which are sure to find, sooner 
or later, a right settlement. 

Social questions are the questions of the present 
and the future of the American people. The race for 
wealth has opened a broad gap between rich and poor. 
There are thousands at your gates toiling from sun- 
rise to sunset to keep body and soul together, and the 
struggle is a hard and bitter one. The idle, the worth- 
less, and the criminal form but a small element of the 
community; but there is a vast body of honest, God- 
fearing working men and women, whose yoke is not 
easy and whose burden is far from light. We cannot 
push their troubles and cares into the background, 
and trust that all will come right in the end. Let us 
look to it that differences and inequalities of condi- 
tion do not widen into ruin. It is most true that these 
differences cannot be rooted out; but they can be modi- 
fied. Legislation cannot change humanity nor alter 
the decrees of nature; but it can help the solution of 
these grave problems. 

Practical measures are plentiful enough. They 
have to do with the hours of labor, with emigration 
from our overcrowded cities to the lands of the West, 
with wise regulation of the railroads and other groat 
corporations. Here are matters of great pith and mo- 
ment, more important, more essential, more pressing 
than others. They must be met; they cannot be 
shirked or evaded. 

The past is across the water; the future is here in 



Miscellaneous Selections. 13 

our keeping. We can do all that can be clone to solve 
the social problems and fulfill the hopes of mankind. 
Failure would be a disaster unequaled in history. The 
first step to success is pride of country, simple, honest, 
frank, and ever present, and this is the Americanism 
that I would have. If we have this pride and faith, 
we shall appreciate our mighty responsibilities. Then, 
if we live up to them, we shall keep the words " an 
American citizen " what they now are — the noblest 
title any man can bear. 



The Little Messengeb of Love. 

'Twas a little sermon preached tome 

By a sweet, unconscious child — 
A baby girl, scarce four years old, 

With blue eyes soft and mild. 
It happened on a rainy day; 

I, seated in a car, 
Was thinking, as I neared my home, 

Of the continual jar 
And discord that pervade the air 

Of busy city life, 
Each caring but for " number one," 

Self -gain provoking strife. 
The gloomy weather seemed to cast 

On every face a shade, 
But on one countenance were lines 

By sorrow deeply laid. 
With low bowed head and hands clasped close, 

She sat, so poor and old, 
Nor seemed to heed the scornful glance 

From eyes unkind and cold. 



14 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

I looked again. Oh, sweet indeed 

The sight that met my eyes ! 
Sitting upon her mother's lap, 

With baby face so wise, 
Was a wee child with sunny curls, 

Blue eyes, and dimpled chin, 
And a young, pure, loving heart 

Unstained as yet by sin. 
Upon the woman poor and sad 

Her eyes in wonder fell, 
Till wonder changed to pitying love; 

Her thoughts, oh, who could tell ? 
Her tiny hands four roses held; 

She looked them o'er and o'er, 
Then choosing out the largest one, 

She struggled to the floor. 
Across the swaying car she went 

Straight to the woman's side, 
And putting in the wrinkled hand 

The rose, she ran to hide 
Her little face in mother's lap, 

Fearing she had done wrong, 
Not knowing, baby as she was, 

That she had helped along 
The up-hill road of life a soul 

Cast down, discouraged quite, 
As on the woman's face there broke 

A flood of joyous light. 

Dear little child ! she was indeed 

A messenger of love 
Sent to that woman's lonely heart 

From the great Heart above. 
This world would be a different place 

Were each to give to those 
Whose hearts are sad as much of love 

As went with baby's rose. 



Miscellaneous Selections. W 

Employ Your Own Intellect. 

The first law of success to-day is concentration. 
You must bend all your energies to one point, looking 
neither to the right nor to the left. Life is so short, 
and the range of human knowledge has increased so 
enormously, that no brain can know all things. The 
man who would know one thing well must have the 
courage to be ignorant of a thousand things, however 
attractive or inviting. As with knowledge, so with 
work. The man who would get along must single out 
his specialty, and into that must pour the whole 
stream of his activity — all the energies of his hand, 
eye, tongue, heart and brain. It is the men of single 
and intense purpose, who steel their souls against all 
things else, who accomplish the hard work of the 
world, and who are everywhere in demand when hard 
work is to be done. 

Those who would succeed must know their own 
work perfectly; they must deny themselves general 
culture; they must be content if they can succeed in 
knowing one thing well. 



A Strange Experience 

Josephine Pollard. 

They took the little London girl from out the city street 

To where the grass was growing green, the birds were singing 

sweet ; 
And everything along the road so filled her with surprise, 
The look of wonder fixed itself within her violet eyes. 



16 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The breezes ran to welcome her; they kissed her on each cheek, 
And tried in every way they could their ecstasy to speak, 
Inviting her to romp with them, and tumbling up her curls, 
Expecting she would laugh or scold, like other little girls. 

But she did not ; no, she could not ; for this crippled little 

child 
Had lived within a dingy court where sunshine never smiled, 
And for weary, weary days and months the little one had lain 
Confined within a narrow room, and on a couch of pain. 

The out-door world was strange to her — the broad expanse of 

sky, 
The soft, green grass, the pretty flowers, the stream that 

trickled by; 
But all at once she saw a sight that made her hold her breath, 
And shake and tremble as if she were frightened near to death. 

Oh, like some horrid monster of which the child had dreamed, 
With nodding head and waving arms, the angry creature 

seemed; 
It threatened her, it mocked at her, with gestures and grimace 
That made her shrink with terror from its serpent- like em- 
brace. 

They kissed the trembling little one, they held her in their 

arms, 
And tried in every way they could to quiet her alarms, 
And said, " Oh, what a foolish little goose you are to be 
So nervous and so terrified at nothing but a tree!" 

They made her go up close to it, and put her arms around 
The trunk and see how firmly it was fastened in the ground; 
They told her all about the roots that clung down deeper yet, 
And spoke of other curious things she never would forget. 

Oh, I have heard of many, very many girls and boys 
Who have to do without the sight of pretty books and toys, 
Who have never seen the ocean; but the saddest thought to me 
Is that anywhere there lives a child who never saw a tree. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 17 

True Pateiotism is Unselfish. 

George William Cuetis. 

Eight and wrong,, justice and crime, exist inde- 
pendently of our country. A public wrong is not a 
private right for any citizen. The citizen is a man 
bound to know and do the right, and the nation is but 
an aggregation of citizens. If a man should shout, 
" My country, by whatever means extended and 
bounded; my country, right or wrong! " he merely re- 
peats the words of the thief who steals in the street, 
or the trader who swears falsely in the custom- 
house, both of them chuckling, " My fortune; however 
acquired." 

Thus, gentlemen, we see that a man's country is 
not a certain area of land, — of mountains, rivers, and 
woods, — but it is principle; and patriotism is loyalty 
to that principle. 

In poetic minds and in popular enthusiasm, this 
feeling becomes closely associated with the soil and 
symbols of the country. But the secret sanctification 
of the soil and the symbol is the idea which they rep- 
resent; and this idea the patriot worships, through the 
name and the symbol, as a lover kisses with rapture 
the glove of his mistress and wears a lock of her hair 
upon his heart. 

So, with passionate heroism, of which tradition is 
never weary of tenderly telling, Arnold von Winkel- 
ried gathered into his bosom the sheaf of foreign 
spears, that his death might give life to his country. So 
Nathan Hale, disdaining no service that his country 
demands, perishes untimely, with no other friend than 
God and the satisfied sense of duty. So George Wash- 



18 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

ington, at once comprehending the scope of the destiny 
to which his country was devoted, with one hand puts 
aside the crown, and with the other sets his slaves 
free. So, through all history from the beginning, a 
noble army of martyrs has fought fiercely and fallen 
bravely for that unseen mistress, their country. So, 
through all history to the end, as long as men believe 
in God, that army must still march and fight and fall, 
— recruited only from the flower of mankind, cheered 
only by their own hope of humanity, strong only in 
their confidence in their cause. 



Forward. 

Susan Coolidge. 

Let me stand still upon the height of life; 

Much has been won, though much there is to win; 
I am a little weary of the strife. 

Let me stand still awhile, nor count it sin 
To cool my hot brow, ease the travel-pain, 
And then address me to the road again. 

Long was the way, and steep and hard the climb; 

Sore are my limbs, and fain I am to rest; 
Behind me lie long sandy tracks of time; 

Before me rises the steep mountain crest. 
Let me stand still; the journey is half done, 
And when less weary I will travel on. 

There is no standing still! Even as I pause 
The steep path shifts and I slip back apace; 

Movement was safety; by the journey laws 
No help is given, no safe abiding-place, 

No idling in the pathway hard and slow; 

I must go forward, or must backward go! 



Miscellaneous Selections. 19 

I will go up then, though the limbs may tire, 
And though the path be doubtful and unseen 

Better with the last effort to expire 

Than lose the toil and struggle that have been, 

And have the morning strength, the upward strain, 

The distance conquered, in the end made vain 

Ah, blessed law! for rest is tempting sweet, 
And we would all lie down if so we might; . 

And few would struggle on with bleeding feet ; 
And few would ever gain the higher height 

Except for the stern law which bids us know 

We must go forward, or must backward go. 



Means of Acquiring Distinction. 

Sydney Smith. 

It is natural in every man to wish for distinction; 
and the praise of those who can confer honor by their 
praise is, in spite of all false philosophy, sweet to 
every human heart; but, as eminence can be only the 
lot of a few, patience of obscurity is a duty, which 
we owe not more to our own happiness than to the 
quiet of the world at large. If you are young and 
ambitious, give a loose to that spirit which throbs 
within you; measure yourself with your equals; and 
learn, from frequent competition, the place which 
Nature has allotted to you; make of it no mean bat- 
tle, but strive hard; strengthen your soul to the search 
of Truth, and follow that specter of Excellence which 
beckons you on, beyond the walls of the world, to 
something better than man has yet done. It may be 
you shall burst out into light and glory at the last: 



20 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

but, if frequent failure convince you of that medi- 
ocrity of nature, which is incompatible with great 
actions, submit wisely and cheerfully to your lot; let 
no mean spirit of revenge tempt you to throw off your 
loyalty to your country, and to prefer a vicious 
celebrity to obscurity crowned with piety and virtue. 
If you can throw new light upon moral truth, or, by 
any exertions, multiply the comforts or confirm the 
happiness of mankind, this fame guides you to the 
true ends of your nature; but, in the name of Heaven, 
as you tremble at retributive justice; and in the name 
of mankind, if mankind be dear to you, seek not that 
easy and accursed fame which is gathered in the work 
of revolutions; and deem it better to be forever un- 
known, than to found a momentary name upon the 
basis of anarchy and irreligion. 



What of That? 

Tired ? Well, what of that ? 
Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, 
Fluttering the rose-leaves scattered by the breeze ? 
Come, rouse thee ! work while it is called day ! 
Coward, arise ! go forth upon thy way. 

Lonely ? And what of that ? 
Some must be lonely; 'tis not given to all 
To feel a heart responsive rise and fall, 
To blend another life into its own ; 
Work may be done in loneliness. Work on ! 

Dark ? Well, and what of that ? 
Didst fondly dream the sun would never set ? 
Dost fear to lose thy way ? Take courage yet. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 21 

Learn thou to walk by faith, and not by sight; 
Thy steps will guided be, and guided right. 

Hard ? Well, what of that ? 
Didst fancy life one summer holiday, 
With lessons none to learn, and naught but play ? 
Go, get thee to thy task ! Conquer or die ! 
It must be learned; learn it, then, patiently. 



Commencement Day. 
w. d. poktek. 

Commencement Day! All hail the one great col- 
lege holiday and festival! The Independence Day of 
Baccalaureates, the Saturnalia of undergraduates! 
How many hearts have bounded to this day! How 
many bound every year, and will bound to the end of 
the chapter! To-clay Seniors are transformed into 
Alumni, students into men of the world; and all 
collegians, of whatever class and degree, are jubilant, 
and pour forth heart and voice in joyous greetings; 
for what is it but a foretaste of the felicity that is in 
reserve for each one in his turn? Who that has par- 
ticipated can ever forget the accessories of the oc- 
casion? The day, is it not always, by express bespeak- 
ing, " the very bridal of the earth and sky " ? The 
procession, so hilarious, so irrepressible, that the 
young Alumnus, annually chosen as marshal, seldom 
fails to declare, at the close of his official duty, that 
the keeping of the ranks in order was his hardest day's 
work yet! And the brilliant audience, that spreads 
itself out, like some beautiful garden, variegated and 



22 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

flushed with flowers of every kind, shape, and hue, at 
the very feet of the heroes of the day. 

Upon the platform, crowded with the virtue and 
learning of the city and State, stands forth the young 
candidate for college honors and public favor, modest, 
but unabashed; trembling with sensibility, but not 
with doubt or fear. And he is worthy to be observed 
and honored. Few persons know the price of distinc- 
tion. Accident, self-indulgence, or fitful application 
cannot win it. By patient study through laborious 
days and long and silent watches of the night, at peril 
of health, with many a sacrifice of pleasure to duty, 
but with an unflinching determination to win the palm 
of excellence, he has worked his way up to this hon- 
orable position. And his hour of triumph is come. 
Faces that he never saw before, that never saw him 
before, are turned upon him with curious and admir- 
ing gaze. Friends look and listen with rapt attention. 
The eye of the father kindles, and his manly pride is 
aroused, as he beholds, in the inheritor of his name, 
an object of general admiration, a rising hope and 
expectancy of the State. But who- shall depict the 
feelings of the gentle mother! Her meek and glad 
surprise; her ill-disguised efforts to keep back the 
tears of joy that will spring in spite of her! Her rich 
and full over-payment of delight for every loving 
care and anxious foreboding, for nights of weariness 
and days of sorrow cheerfully borne for his sake, and 
for all the manifold trials, sacrifices, and ministerings 
of that great and abounding affection, that wondrous, 
holy love, without all parallel or compare, that has its 
well-spring in the maternal breast! Ami. perchance, 
deep down in the recesses of the heart of some fair 



Miscellaneous Selections. 23 

maiden, there stirs a feeling of conscious sympathy, 
that makes no sign, save that it trembles in the half- 
averted eye and paints itself in the faintest of blushes 
on her delicate cheek, and which, though it brings 
upon her spirit a sort of trouble new and strange, 
fills it with emotions of pleasure that she does not care 
to repress, and hopes that may not be confessed. 

Collegians! It is a noble thing to deserve and win 
the applause of the wise and good, and the approving 
smiles of the gentle and fair; and you may take with 
you the assurance, which one day, perhaps, you will 
realize, that although after-life may have its noble 
ambitions, and its brilliant and solid rewards, you will 
find none sweeter or purer than that which first woke 
a fathers pride, and recompensed a noble mother's 
self-denying cares. 



Only a Little. 

Dora Goodale. 

A bird has little — only a feather 

Plucked, it may be, from a tender breast, 
Only a thread to bind together 

The delicate fabric of his nest; 
Yet he sings, ' ' The wide, free air is mine, 

The dews of earth, the clouds of heaven!" 
He sits and swings with the swinging vine, 

And all he looks on to him is given. 

A child has little — only a blossom 

Caught at random from fields of bloom. 

Only the love in a. tender bosom, 
Freed from the shadow of care and gloom; 



24 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Yet he laughs all day from the deeps of lightness, 
And feels his joy in the joy of heaven, 

He loses himself in a world of brightness, 
And all he asks for to him is given. 

A man has little — only a longing 

Higher than labors of sword or pen, 
Only a vision whose lights are thronging 

Over the tumult and toil of men. 
Yet wealth is his from the wealth of being, 

His are the glories of Earth and Heaven, 
He feels a beauty too deep for seeing, 

And all he dreams of to him is given. 



The Beautiful in Creation. 
Timothy Dwight. 

Were all the interesting diversities of color and 
form to disappear, how unsightly, dull, and wearisome 
would be the aspect of the w r orld! The pleasures con- 
veyed to us by the endless varieties with which these 
sources of beauty are presented to the eye, are so much 
things of course, and exist so much without intermis- 
sion, that we scarcely think either of their nature, 
their number, or the great proportion which they con- 
stitute in the whole mass of our enjoyment. But, 
were an inhabitant of this country to be removed from 
its delightful scenery to the midst of an Arabian 
desert, a boundless expanse of sand, a waste, spread 
with uniform desolation, enlivened by the murmur 
of no stream, and cheered by the beauty of no verdure; 
although he might live in a palace, and riot in splendor 
and luxury, he would, I think, find life a dull, weari- 



Miscellaneous Selections. 25 

some, melancholy round of existence; and, amid all 
his gratifications, would sigh for the hills and valleys 
of his native land, the brooks and rivers, the living 
luster of the spring, and the rich glories of the 
autumn. The ever-varying brilliancy and grandeur of 
the landscape, and the magnificence of the sky, sun, 
moon, and stars enter more extensively into the en- 
joyment of mankind, than we, perhaps, ever think, 
or can possibly apprehend, without frequent and ex-, 
tensive investigation. This beauty and splendor of 
the objects around us, it is ever to be remembered, is 
not necessary to their existence, nor to what we com- 
monly intend by their usefulness. It is, therefore, to 
be regarded as a source of pleasure gratuitously super- 
induced upon the general nature of the objects them- 
selves, and, in this light, as a testimony of the divine 
goodness peculiarly affecting. 



The Light-house. 

High o'er the black-backed Skerries, and far 

To the westward hills and the eastward sea, 
I shift my light like a twinkling star, 

With ever a star's sweet constancy. 
They wait for me when the night comes down, 

And the slow sun falls in his death divine, 
Then braving the black night's gathering frown, 

With ruby and diamond blaze — I shine ! 

There is war at my feet where the black rocks break, 
The thunderous snows of the rising sea; 

There is peace above when the stars are awake, 
Keeping their night-long watch with me. 



26 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

I care not a jot for the roar cf the surge, 
The wrath is the sea's — the victory mine ! 

As over its breadth to the furthest verge, 
Unwavering and untired — I shine ! 

First on my brow comes the pearly light, 

Dimming my lamp in the new-born day, • 
One long, last look to left and right, 

And I rest from my toil — for the broad sea-way 
Grows bright with the smile and blush of the sky, 

All incandescent and opaline. 
I rest — but the loveliest day will die — 

Again in its last wan shadows — I shine ! 

When the night is black, and the wind is loud, 

And danger is hidden, and peril abroad, 
The seaman leaps on the swaying shroud; 

His eye is on me, and his hope in God ! 
Alone, in the darkness, my blood-red eye 

Meets his, and he hauls his groping line. 
u A point to nor'ard !" I hear him cry; 

He goes with a blessing, and still — I shine ! 

While standing alone in the summer sun 
Sometimes I have visions and dreams of my own, 

Of long-life voyages just begun, 
And rocks unnoticed, and shoals unknown; 

And I would that men and women would mark 
The duty done by this lamp of mine; 

For many a life is lost in the dark, 



The Permanence of Grant's Fame. 
James G. Blaine. 

The monopoly of fame by the few in this world 
comes from an instinct of human nature. Heroes can- 



Miscellaneous Selections. 27 

not be multiplied. The millions pass into oblivion; 
only the units survive. Who aided the great leader 
of Israel to conduct the chosen people over the sands 
of the desert and through the waters of the sea unto 
the Promised Land? Who inarched with Alexander 
from the Bosphorus to India? Who commanded the 
legions under Caesar in the conquest of Gaul? Who 
crossed the Alps with the Conqueror of Italy? Who 
fought with Wellington at Waterloo? Alas! how soon 
it may be asked, Who marched with Sherman from the 
mountain to the sea? Who stood with Meade on the 
victorious field of Gettysburg? Who went with Sheri- 
dan through the trials and triumphs of the blood- 
stained valley? 

Napoleon said: " The rarest attribute among gen- 
erals is two-o'clock-in-the-morning courage." " I 
mean/' he added, " unprepared courage, that which is 
necessary on an unexpected occasion, and which, in 
spite of the most unforeseen events, leaves full free- 
dom of judgment and promptness of decision/' No 
better description could be given of the type of cour- 
age which distinguished General Grant. 

His constant readiness to fight was another quality 
which, according to the same high authority, estab- 
lished his rank as a commander. " Generals," said 
the exile at St. Helena, " are rarely found eager to 
give battle; they choose their positions, consider their 
combinations, and then indecision begins." " Noth- 
ing," added this greatest warrior of modern times, 
" nothing is so difficult as to decide." General Grant, 
in his services in the field, never once exhibited inde- 
cision. This was the quality which gave him his 
crowning characteristic as a military leader; he in- 



28 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

spired his men with a sense of their invincibility, and 
they were thenceforth invincible! 

General Grant's name will survive because it is in- 
dissolubly connected with the greatest military and 
moral triumph in the history of his country. If the 
armies of the Union had ultimately failed, the vast 
and beneficent designs of Mr. Lincoln would have 
been frustrated. General Grant would then have 
taken his place with that long and always increasing 
array of able men who are found wanting in the su- 
preme hour of trial. But a higher power controlled 
the result. In the reverent expression of Mr. Lincoln, 
" no human counsel devised, nor did any mortal hand 
work out these great things." In their accomplish- 
ment these human agents were sustained by more 
than human power, and through them great salvation 
was wrought for the land. 

As long, therefore, as the American Union shall 
abide, with its blessings of law and liberty, Grant's 
name shall be remembered with honor; as long as the 
slavery of human beings shall be abhorred and the 
freedom of man cherished, Grant's name shall be re- 
called with gratitude; and in the cycles of the future 
the story of Lincoln's life can never be told without 
associating Grant in the enduring splendor of his own 
fame. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 29 

National Progress. 
William McKinley. 

(From Inaugural Address Delivered March 4, 1901). 

Honesty, capacity, and industry are nowhere more 
indispensable than in public employment. 

We are now at peace with the world, and it is my 
fervent prayer that, if differences arise between us and 
other Powers, they may be settled by peaceful arbitra- 
tion, and that hereafter we may be spared the horrors 
of war. 

Strong hearts and helpful hands are needed, and, 
fortunately, we have them in every part of our beloved 
country. We are reunited. Sectionalism has disap- 
peared. Division on public questions can no longer 
be traced by the war maps of 1861. 

These old differences less and less disturb the judg- 
ment. Existing problems demand the thought and 
quicken the conscience of the country, and the re- 
sponsibility for their presence, as well as for their 
righteous settlement, rests upon us all — no more upon 
me than upon you. 

There are some national questions in the solution 
of which patriotism should exclude partisanship. Mag- 
nifying their difficulties will not take them off our 
hands nor facilitate their adjustment. 

Distrust of the capacity, integrity, and high purpose 
of the American people will not be an inspiring theme 
for future political contests. Dark pictures and 
gloomy forebodings are worse than useless. These 
only becloud; they do not help to point the way of 
safety and honor. " Hope maketh not ashamed." 



30 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The prophets of evil were not the builders of the Re- 
public, nor in its crises have they saved or served it. 

The faith of the fathers was a mighty force in its 
creation, and the faith of their descendants has 
wrought its progress and furnished its defenders. They 
are obstructionists who despair and who would destroy 
confidence in the ability of our people to solve wisely, 
and for civilization, the mighty problems resting upon 
them. 

The American people, intrenched in freedom at 
home, take their love for it with them wherever they 
go; and they reject as mistaken and unworthy the doc- 
trine that we lose our own liberties by securing the 
enduring foundations of liberty to others. Our in- 
stitutions will not deteriorate by extension, and our 
sense of justice will not abate under tropic suns in 
distant seas. 

As heretofore, so hereafter will the nation demon- 
strate its fitness to administer any new estate which 
events devolve upon it, and in the fear of God will 
" take occasion by the hand and make the bounds of 
freedom wider yet." If there are those among us who 
would make our way more difficult we must not be 
disheartened, but the more earnestly dedicate ourselves 
to the task upon which we have rightly entered. 

The path of progress is seldom smooth. New things 
are often found hard to do. Our fathers found them 
so. We find them so. They are inconvenient. They 
cost us something. But are we not made better for 
1 lie effort and sacrifice; and are not those we serve 
lifted up and blessed? 

We will be consoled, too, with the fact that opposi 
tion has confronted every onward movement of the 



Miscellaneous Selections. 31 

Eepublic from its opening hour until now, but without 
success. The Eepublic has marched on and on, and its 
every step has exalted freedom and humanity. 

We are undergoing the same ordeal as did our pred- 
ecessors nearly a century ago. We are following the 
course they blazed. They triumphed. Will their suc- 
cessors falter and plead organic impotency in the 
nation? 

Surely, after one hundred and twenty-five years of 
achievement for mankind, we will not now surrender 
our equality with other Powers on matters fundamen- 
tal and essential to nationality! 

With no such purpose was the nation created. In 
no such spirit has it developed its full and independent 
sovereignty. We adhere to the principle of equality 
among ourselves, and by no act of ours will we assign 
to ourselves a subordinate rank in the family of 
nations. 



The Demon on the Roof. 

Josephine Pollard. 

? Twas an ancient legend they used to tell 

Within the glow of the kitchen hearth, 
When a sudden silence upon them fell, 

And quenched the laughter and noisy mirth: 
That whenever a dwelling was building new, 

There were demons ready to curse or bless 
The noble structure, that daily grew 

Perfect in shape and comeliness. 

And when the sound of the tools had ceased, 
Hammer and nails, and plane and saw, 

Ere yet the dwelling could be released 
From the evil spirits, — there was a law 



32 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

No master-mechanic could be found 

Able or willing to disobey — 
That a ladder be left upon the ground 

For their enjoyment, a night and a day. 

And when the chimneys begin to roar, 

And voices harsh as the wintry wind 
Howl and mock at the outer door, 

The ancient legend is brought to mind, 
And we think, perhaps, that a careless loon, 

Not fearing the master's stern reproof, 
Has taken the ladder away too soon 

And left a demon upon the roof. 

And in every dwelling where joy comes not, 

And the buds of promise forget to bloom, 
Be it a palace or be it a cot, 

Amply splendid or scant of room, 
We may be sure that a demon elf, 

Fiendishly cruel and full of spite, 
Is sitting and grinning away to himself 

Up on the ridge-pole, out of sight. 

But let it ever be borne in mind 

By those who often this legend quote, 
That with every evil some good we find, 

For every ill there's an antidote. 
And if we use but the magic spell, 

And hearts draw near that were kept aloo£. 
Good angels then in our homes will dwell, 

Despite the demon upon the roof. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 33 

Our Country. 
Epes Sakgent. 

When" we speak of our country we mean the United 
States of America. The State in which we reside is 
a small part of that country, and the town in which 
we live is hut a small part of the State. Our govern- 
ment is the offspring of the popular will. The people 
brought it into existence to impose salutary restraints 
upon the States, and to insure to the people in every 
State the benefits of a republican freedom. We are a 
nation, not by the sufferance of Delaware or Ohio, 
but by virtue of our historical and constitutional ante- 
cedents. Each State has its rights, but among them 
is not the right to break up this Union by secession. A 
four years' war, the fiercest in the world's history, has 
settled that question. 

The most precious of our rights is that by which 
we claim the protection of the American flag, whether 
we stand on the Alantic border of our beloved country, 
on the mountains of Colorado, or on the plains of 
Texas. 

Why ought we to cherish this Union? Simply be- 
cause it is the guarantee of our liberties. It is not 
true that a diminutive nationality is favorable to hu- 
man freedom. Ancient Greece, broken up into inde- 
pendent states, perished because of the absence of a 
National Union like ours. No argument against our 
system can be drawn from the vast extent of our 
country. The steam engine, the railroad, and the 
magnetic telegraph have annihilated space and time. 
Our grand republican experiment, already con- 
firmed by the supreme test of civil war, and 



34 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

purged of one fatal inconsistency, is based on the 
Christian principle of justice — the equality of all men 
before the law. Let us rise to the full benefit of this 
sacred teaching. Let us realize that it is our duty to 
do what we can constantly to raise up those beneath us 
to our own level of virtue and intelligence, and to wel- 
come all men to the political benefits which we inherit. 
That we live in the enjoyment of the fruits of our 
labors, that we live at all, perhaps, or live girt about 
by the blessings of civilization, we owe, under Provi- 
dence, to our country. Let us prove ourselves true 
sons and daughters of such a mother! Let us lovingly 
uphold the symbol of her just authority, the glorious 
flag of the United States! Let us labor to make her, 
by her noble example, the peaceful propagandist of 
justice and freedom throughout the world! Let us 
serve her with all our might, and defend her, should 
occasion summon, with our mortal lives! 



Beside the Railway Track. 

On its straight iron pathway the long train was rushing, 
With its noise, and its smoke, and its great human load; 

And I saw a wild rose that in beauty was blushing, 
Fresh and sweet, by the side of the hot, dusty road. 

Untrained were its branches, untended it flourished, 
No eye watched its opening or mourned its decay; 

But its leaves by the soft dews of heaven were nourished, 
And it opened its buds in the warm light of day. 

I asked why it grew there where none prized its beauty, 
For of thousands who passed none had leisure to stay. 

And the answer came sweetly, " I do but my duty; 
I was told to grow here by the side of the way. " 



Miscellaneous Selections. 35 

There are those on life's pathway whose spirits are willing 
To dwell where the busy crowd passes them by; 

But the dew from above on their leaves is distilling, 
And they bloom 'neath the smile of the All-seeing Eye. 

They are loved by the few — like the rose, they remind us, 
When tempted from duty's safe pathway to stray; 

We, too, have a place and a mission assign'd us, 
Though it be but to grow by the side of the way. 



When Grandpa Was a Little boy. 

Malcolm Douglas. 

"When Grandpa was a little boy about your age," said he 
To the curly-headed youngster who had climbed upon his 

knee; 
"So studious was he at school, he never failed to pass; 

And out of three he always stood the second in his class " 

" But, if no more were in it, you were next to foot like me ! " 
" Why, bless you, Grandpa never thought of that before," said 

he. 

" When Grandpa was a little boy about your age," said he; 
" He very seldom spent his pretty pennies foolishly; 
No toy or candy store was there for miles and miles about, 
And with his books straight home he'd go the moment school 

was out " 

"But, if there had been one, you might have spent them all 

like me ! " 
"Why, bless you, Grandpa never thought of that before," 

said he. 

" When Grandpa was a little boy about your age," said he, 
" He never stayed up later than an hour after tea; 
It wasn't good for little boys at all, his mother said; 
And so, when it was early, she would march him off to 
bed " 



36 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

"But, if she hadn't, maybe you'd have stayed up late, like 

me!" 
"Why, bless you, Grandpa never thought of that before," 

said he. 

" When Grandpa was a little boy about your age," said he; 
" In summer he went barefoot and was happy as could be; 
And all the neighbors 'round about agreed he was a lad 

Who was as good as he could be, except when he was bad " 

"But, 'ceptin' going barefoot, you were very much like me." 
"Why, bless you, Grandpa's of ten thought of that before," 
said he. 



Getting the Eight Start. 
Joseph Gilbert Holland. 

The first great lesson a young man should learn is 
that he knows nothing and is nothing. Bred at home, 
he cannot readily understand that everyone else can 
be his equal in talent and acquisition. This is a criti- 
cal period of his history. If he bow to the conviction 
that his mind and person are but ciphers, and that 
whatever he is to be and is to win must be achieved 
by hard work, there is abundant hope for him. If a 
huge self-conceit hold possession of him, or he sink 
discouraged upon the threshold of fierce competition 
and more manly emulations, he might as well be a 
dead man. The world has no use for such a man, and 
he has only to retire or be trodden upon. 

The next thing for him to learn is that the world 
cares nothing for him, and that he must take care for 
himself. He will not be noticed till he does something 
to prove that he has an absolute value in society. No 
letter of recommendation will give him this, or ought 



Miscellaneous Selections. 37 

to give him this. Society demands that a young man 
shall be somebody, and prove his right to the title, 
but will not take this upon trust, at least for a long 
time: it has been cheated too frequently. There is no 
surer sign of an unmanly spirit than a wish to lean 
upon somebody and enjoy the fruits of the industry 
of others. When a young man becomes aware that 
only by his own exertions can he rise into companion- 
ship and competition with the sharp, strong, and well- 
drilled minds around him, he is ready for work, and 
not before. 

The next lesson is patience, thorough preparation, 
and contentment with the regular channels of busi- 
ness effort and enterprise. This is one of the most 
difficult to learn, of all the lessons of life. It is 
natural for the mind to reach out eagerly for immedi- 
ate results. Beginning at the very foot of the hill, 
and working slowly to the top, seems a very discourag- 
ing process; and precisely at this point have thousands 
of young men made shipwreck of their lives. Let this 
be understood, then, at starting, that the patient con- 
quest of difficulties is not only essential to the suc- 
cesses which you seek, but to that preparation of mind 
which is requisite for the enjoyment of your successes, 
and for retaining them when gained. It is the general 
rule of Providence, the world over, and in all time, 
that unearned success is a curse. It is the process 
of earning success that shall be the preparation for its 
conservation and enjoyment. 

So, day by day, and week by week, month after 
month, and year after year, work on, and in that proc- 
ess gain strength and symmetry, and nerve and 
knowledge, that when success patiently and bravely 



38 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

worked for shall come, it may find you prepared to 
receive and keep it. The development which you will 
get in this brave and patient labor will prove itself 
in the end the most valuable of your successes. It will 
help to make a man of you. It will give you power 
and self-reliance. It will give you not only self- 
respect, but the respect of your fellows and the public. 



Before Vicksburg. 

Back from the front there came, 
Weeping and sorely lame, 
The merest child, the youngest face, 
Man ever saw in such a fearful place. 

Stifling his tears, he limped his chief to meet, 
But when he paused and tottering stood, 
Around the circle of his little feet 
There spread a pool of bright young blood. 
Shocked at his doleful case, 
Sherman cried, " Halt ! Front face ! 
Who are you ? Speak, my gallant boy ! " 
" A drummer, sir; Fifty-fifth Illinois." 

" Are you not hit ? " " That's nothing. Only send 
Some cartridges. Our men are out, 

And the foe press us." ' ' But, my little friend '' 

" Don't mind me ! Did you hear that shout ? 

What if our men be driven ? 

O for the love of Heaven 

Send to my Colonel, General dear ! " 

' ' But you ? " ' ' Oh, I shall easily find the rear ! " 

" I'll see to that," cried Sherman, and a drop, 
Angels might envy, dimmed his eye 
As the boy, toiling toward the hill's hard top, 
Turned round, and with his shrill child's cry 



Miscellaneous Selections. 39 

Shouted, " O don't forget ! 

We'll win the battle yet ! 

But let our soldiers have some more, 

More cartridges, sir— caliber fifty-four ! " 



Only a Little Thing. 

Mrs. M. P. Handy. 
It was only a tiny seed, 

Carelessly brushed aside; 
But it grew in time to a noxious weed, 

And spread its poison wide. 

It was only a little leak, 

So small you might hardly see; 
But the rising waters found the break, 

And wrecked the great levee. 

It was only a single spark, 

Dropped by a passing train; 
But the dead leaves caught, and swift and dark 

Was its work on wood and plain. 

It was only an unsound nail 

That the workman used — ah me ! 
But the ship that else had weathered the gale 

Went down in the deep, dark sea. 

It was only a thoughtless word, 

Scarce meant to be unkind; 
But it pierced as a dart to the heart that heard, 

And left its sting behind. 

It may seem a trifle at most, 

The thing that we do or say; 
And yet it may be that at fearful cost 

We may wish it undone some day. 



40 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Glimpses into Cloudland. 
H. W. Longfellow. 

Life is one and universal, its forms many and indi- 
vidual. Throughout this beautiful and wonderful 
creation there is never-ceasing motion, without rest 
by night or day; ever weaving to and fro. Swifter 
than a weaver's shuttle it flies from Birth to Death, 
from Death to Birth; from the beginning seeks the 
end, and finds it not, for the seeming end is only a 
dim beginning of a new outgoing and endeavor after 
the end. 

As the ice upon the mountain, when the warm 
breath of the summer sun breathes upon it, melts and 
divides into drops, each of which reflects an image of 
the sun, so life, in the smile of God's love, divides it- 
self into separate forms, each bearing in it and reflect- 
ing an image of God's love. Of all these forms, the 
highest and most perfect in its God-likeness is the 
human soul. 

The vast cathedral of Nature is full of holy scrip- 
tures, and shapes of deep, mysterious meaning. But 
all is solitary and silent there; no bending knee, no 
uplifted eye, no lip adoring, praying. Into this vast 
cathedral comes the human soul, seeking its Creator; 
and the universal silence is changed to sound, and the 
sound is harmonious and has a meaning, and is com- 
prehended and felt. 

It was an ancient saying of the Persians, that the 
waters rush from the mountains and hurry forth into 
all the lands to find the Lord of the Earth; and the 
flame of the fire, when ii awakes, gazes no more upon 
the ground, but mounts heavenward to seek the Lord 



Miscellaneous Selections. 41 

of Heaven; and here and there the Earth has huilt the 
great watchtowers of the mountains, and they lift 
their heads far up into the sky, and gaze ever upward 
and around, to see if the Judge of the World comes 
not! 

Thus in Nature herself, without man, there lies a 
waiting and hoping, a looking and yearning, after an 
unknown somewhat. Yes; when, above there, where 
the mountain lifts its head over all others, that it may 
be alone with the clouds and storms of heaven, the 
lonely eagle looks forth into the gray dawn, to see if 
the day comes not; when, by the mountain torrent, 
the brooding raven listens to hear if the chamois is 
returning from his nightly pasture in the valley; and 
when the soon uprising sun calls out the spicy odors 
of the thousand flowers, the Alpine flowers, with 
heaven's deep blue and the blush of sunset on their 
leaves: — then there awake in Nature, and the soul of 
man can see and comprehend them, an expectation and 
a longing for a future revelation of God's majesty. 

They awake, also, when, in the fullness of life, field 
and forest rest at noon, and through the stillness are 
heard only the song of the grasshopper and the hum 
of the bee; and when at evening the singing lark up 
from the sweet-smelling vineyards rises, or in the later 
hours of night Orion puts on his shining armor, to 
walk forth into the fields of heaven. But in the soul 
of man alone is this longing changed to certainty, 
and fulfilled. 

For, lo! the light of the sun and the stars shines 
through the air, and is nowhere visible and seen; the 
planets hasten with more than the speed of the storm 
through infinite space, anci their footsteps are not 



42 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

heard; but where the sunlight strikes the firm surface 
of the planets, where the storm-wind smites the wall 
of the mountain cliff, there is the one seen and the 
other heard. Thus is the glory of God made visible, 
and may be seen, where in the soul of man it meets its 
likeness changeless and firm standing. 

Thus, then, stands Man — a mountain on the 
boundary between two worlds — its foot in one, its 
summit far rising into the other. From this summit 
the manifold landscape of life is visible, the way of 
the Past and Perishable, which we have left behind us; 
and as we evermore ascend, bright glimpses of the day- 
break of Eternity beyond us! 



"Wash Dolly Up Like That." 

Eleanor Kirk Ames. 

"I'll be the goodest little girl 

That ever you did see, 
If you'll let me take my dolly 

To church with you and me. 
It's too drefful bad to leave her 

When we's all gone away; 
Oh! Cosette will be .so lonesome 

To stay at home all day." 

'Twas such a pleading pair of eyes 

And winsome little face 
That mamma couldn't well refuse, 

Though church was not the place 
For dolls or playthings, she well knew; 

Still mamma's little maid 
Was always so obedient 

She didn't feel afraid. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 43 

No mouse was ever half so still 

As this sweet little lass, 
Until the sermon was quite through — 

Then this did come to pass: 
A dozen babies (more or less) 

Dressed in long robes of white 
Were brought before the altar rail — 

A flash of heaven's own light. 

Then Mabel stood upon the seat, 

With dolly held out straight, 
And this is what the darling said: 

''Oh! minister, please to wait, 
And wash my dolly up like that — 

Her name it is Cosette." 
The minister smiled and bowed his head; 

But mamma blushes yet. 



The Daily Task. 
Marianne Farringham. 

The morning light falls gently on the eyes 

And wakes the sleeping men ; 
And bids them rise and haste to meet the day, 

And find their work again. 

No one is asked to choose what Tie will do, 

Or take the task loved best. 
For God allots the places, and each one 

Obeys His high behest. 

One, loving silence, passes to the street 

And mingles with the crowd, 
And finds his daily work awaiting him, 

Where noise is long; and loud, 



44 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

And one who hungers for the voice and touch 

Of others in the gloom 
Is ordered to withdraw from all, and work 

Alone within one room. 

Another, loving beauty, air, and light, 

Passes in sordid ways, 
And uncongenial sights, and jarring sounds, 

The hours of his best days. 

And yet another who could love all work, 

And do it thankfully, 
Has naught to do but suffer and be still 

In patience, perfectly. 

Are, then, the workers at their daily tasks 

Unhappy and unblest ? 
Nay; He who chooses for them gives the wage 

Of happiness and rest. 

The feet pass swiftly to the place of toil, 

The lips break into song, 
And ready hands receive the allotted task, 

Nor find the hours too long. 

Because the loyal heart is true to God, 

And the deft hand obeys 
The Master, who decides what each shall do, 

Joy fills the working days. 

And so, if but the soul be leal, the task 

Itself becomes more dear, 
And every worker finds that work well done 

Is work that brings good cheer. 



Miscellaneous Selections 45^ 

True Liberty. 
Frederick William Bobertsox. 

People talk of liberty as if it meant the liberty to 
do just what a man likes. I call that man free who is 
able to rule himself. I call him free who fears doing- 
wrong, but fears nothing else. I call that man free 
who has learned the most blessed of all truths — that 
liberty consists in obedience to the power, and to the 
will, and to the law that his higher soul reverences 
and approves. He is not free because he does what he 
likes: but he is free because he does what he ought, 
and there is no protest in his soul against that doing. 

Some people think there is no liberty in obedience. 
I tell you that there is no liberty except in loyal obe- 
dience — the obedience of the unconstrained affections. 
Did you ever see a mother kept at home, a kind of 
prisoner, by her sick child, obeying its every wish and 
caprice? Will you call that mother a slave? Or is 
this the obedience of slavery? I call it the obedience 
of the highest liberty — that of love. 

TVe hear a great deal in these days respecting the 
right of private judgment, the rights of labor, the 
rights of property, and the rights of man. Eights are 
grand things, divine things, in this world of God's ; 
but the way in which we expound those rights, alas! 
seems to be the very incarnation of selfishness. I can 
see nothing very noble in a man who is forever going 
about calling for his rights. I cannot see anything 
manly in the ferocious struggle between rich and poor 
— the one to take as much, and the other to keep as 
much, as he can. The cry of " my rights and your 
duties,'' we should change to something nobler. If 



46 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

we can say, " my duties and your rights," we shall 
learn what real liberty is. 



The Old Stone Basin. 

Susan Coolidge. 

In the heart of the busy city, 
In the scorching noontide heat, 

A sound of bubbling water 
Falls on the din of the street. 

It falls in a gray stone basin, 

And over the cool wet brink 
The heads of thirsty horses 

Each moment are stretched to drink. 

And peeping between the crowding heaoL 
As the horses come and go, 
" The Gift of Three Little Sisters" 
Is read on the stone below. 

Ah, beasts are not taught letters, 

They know no alphabet; 
And never a horse in all these years 

Has read the words; and yet 

I think that each toil-worn creature 
Who stops to drink by the way, 

His thanks in his own dumb fashion 
To the sisters small must pay. 

Years have gone by since busy hands 
"Wrought at the basin's stone; 

The kindly little sisters 
Are all to women grown. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 47 

I do not know their home or fates, 

Or the name they bear to men, 
But this sweetness of their gracious deed 

Is just as fresh as then. 

And all life long, and after life, 

They must the happier be, 
For the cup of water given by them 

When they were children three. 



True Heroism. 

Let others write of battles fought 

On bloody, ghastly fields, 
Where honors greet the man who wins. 

And death the man who yields; 
But I will write of him who fights 

And vanquishes his sins, 
Who ."struggles on through weary years 

Against himself and wins. 

He is a hero, stanch and brave, 

Who fights an unseen foe, 
And puts at last beneath his feet 

His passions base and low; 
Who stands erect in manhood's might 

Undaunted, undismayed — 
The bravest man that drew a sword 

In foray or in raid. 

It calls for something more than brawtt 

Or muscle, to overcome 
An enemy who marcheth not 

With banner, plume, and drum — 
A foe, forever lurking nigh, 

With silent, stealthy tread, 
Forever near your board by day, 

And night beside your bed. 



48 Pieces for Every Occas 



ion. 



All honor, then, to that brave heart, 

Though poor or rich he be, 
"Who struggles with his baser part — 

Who conquers and is free ! 
He may not wear a hero's crown, 

Nor fill a hero's grave; 
But truth will place his name among 

The bravest of the brave. 



Mind Your Business. 

WOLSTAN DlXEY. 

Nine-tenths of all that goes wrong in this world 
is because someone doesn't mind his business. When 
a terrible accident occurs, the "first cry is that the 
means of prevention were not sufficient. Everybody 
declares we must have, a new patent fire-escape, an 
automatic engine switch, or a high-proof non-combusti- 
ble sort of lamp oil. But a little investigation will 
usually show that all the contrivances were on hand, 
and in good order; the real trouble was that somebody 
didn't mind his business; he didn't obey orders; he 
thought he knew a better way than the way he was 
told; he said, " Just this once I'll take the risk," and 
in doing so, he made other people take the risk, too; 
and the risk was too great. At Toronto, Canada, not 
long ago, a conductor, against orders, ran his train on 
a certain siding, which resulted in the death of thirty 
or forty people. The engineer of a mill, at Rochester, 
N. Y., thought the engine would stand a higher pres- 
sure than the safety-valve indicated, so he tied a few 
bricks to the valve to hold it down; result: four work- 



Miscellaneous Selections. 49 

men killed, a number wounded, and mill blown to pieces. 
The City of Columbus, an iron vessel fitted out with 
all the means of preservation and escape in use on 
shipboard, was wrecked on the best-known portion of 
the Atlantic coast, on a moonlight night, at the cost 
of one hundred lives, because the officer in command 
took into his head to save a few ship-lengths in dis- 
tance by hugging the shore, in direct disobedience of 
the captain's parting orders. The best ventilated mine 
in Colorado was turned into a death trap for half a 
hundred miners, because one of the number entered 
with a lighted lamp the gallery he had been warned 
against. Nobody survives to explain the explosion of 
the dynamite-cartridge factory in Pennsylvania, but 
as that type of disaster is almost always due to heed- 
lessness, it is probable that this instance is not an 
exception to the rule. 

What is most wanted in this world is people that 
will mind their business: all the devices, inventions, 
contrivances, you can shake a stick at, won't insure 
safety; the real need is, automatic obedience, patent 
honesty, non-combustible brains, high-proof character. 
Men that can furnish these are in demand. Be sure, 
whatever your disadvantages, however humble your 
present position, your services will not long go a-beg- 
ging if you have that one faculty of minding your 
business. 



50 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

After Vacation. 

Again they muster from the far-off hillside, 
From country farm-house and from sea-girt shore ; 

Their tramping feet resound along the highways, 
Their gleeful shouts ring on the air once more. 

A merry band, so full of youth's elixir, 
How can their restless spirits e'er essay 

The tasks that wait their patient, steady labor 
After the long, bright, summer holiday? 

Not now, O children, in the sunny meadows 
Ye cull the flowers or by the brooklets stray, 

But in the fields of knowledge, thick with blossoms, 
To gather sweets for a far future day. 

Here, too, you roam a land of fairest promise, 
"Watered by many a stream of limpid hue, 

Where weary travelers find a sweet refreshment 
And garner richest stores of old and new. 

We bid thee welcome to the homes that missed thee, 
To the deserted school-room's open door. 

The nation's hope is in thee, keep thy birthright; 
Thine heritage is more than golden store. 



What's the Lesson for To-day?" 

Little Bess, with laughing eyes, 
Brightly blue as summer skies, 
Came to me one morn in May, 
Asking in her eager way, 
Ci What's the lesson for to-day ?" 

And I told her, then and there, 
What I wished her to prepare. 
But new meaning (strange to say), 
In the childish query lay, 
11 What's the lesson for to-day?" 



Miscellaneous Selections. 51 

And I pondered o'er and o'er 
What I scarce had thought before, — 
As I went my wonted way, 
Towards my duty, sad or gay, 
" What's my lesson for the day V 

Students in the school of life, 
'Mid its struggles and its strife, 
Let us ask, in childlike way, 
Of the Teacher we obey, 
" What's the lesson for to-day ?" 

And the answer God will give, 
He will show us how to live. 
Teach us of His perfect way, 
Grant us wisdom that we may 
Learn the lesson of the day. 



The American Constitution. 
Alexaxder Hamiltox. 

After all our doubts, our suspicions and specula- 
tions on the subject of government, we must at last 
return to this important truth — that when we have 
formed a constitution on free principles, we may, with 
safety, furnish it with all the powers necessary to 
answer, in the most ample manner, the purposes of 
government. 

The great objects desired are a free representation 
and mutual checks. When these can be obtained, all 
the apprehensions as to the extent of powers are un- 
just and imaginary. What, then, is the structure of 
this American Constitution? One branch of the Leg- 
islature is to be elected by the people — by the same 



52 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

people who choose your State Representatives. Its 
members are to hold office for two years, and then 
return to their constituents. Here the people govern. 
Here they act by their immediate representatives. You 
also have a Senate, constituted by your State Legisla- 
tures, by men in whom you place the highest confi- 
dence, and forming another representative branch. 
Then, again, you have an Executive Magistrate, cre- 
ated by a form of election which merits universal ad- 
miration. You find all the checks which the greatest 
politicians and the best writers have ever conceived. 
What more can reasonable man desire? The legisla- 
tive authority is lodged in three distinct branches, 
and the judicial is still reserved as an independent 
body who hold their offices during good behavior. 
This organization is all so skillfully contrived that it 
is next to impossible that an impolitic or wicked 
measure should pass its scrutiny with success. 

What do gentlemen mean by coming forward and 
declaiming against this government? Why do they 
say that we ought to limit its powers and destroy its 
capacity for blessing the people? Has philosophy 
suggested, has experience taught, that such a govern- 
ment ought not to be intrusted with everything 
necessary for the good of society? When you have di- 
vided and balanced the departments of government; 
when you have strongly connected the virtue of your 
rulers with their interests; when, in short, you have 
rendered your system as perfect as human forms can 
be — you must place confidence; and you must give 
power. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 53 

The Little Grave. 

" It's only a little grave," they said, 

" Only just a child that's dead! " 

And so they carelessly turned away 

From the mound the spade had made that day. 

Ah ! they did not know how deep a shade 

That little grave in one home had made. 

True, the coffin was narrow and small, 

One yard would have served for an ample pall; 

And one man in his arms could have borne away 

The rosewood and its freight of clay. 

But what darling hopes were hid 

Beneath that little coffin-lid. 

A weeping mother stood that day 
With folded hands by that form of clay; 
And painful, burning tears were hid 
'Neath the drooping lash and aching lid; 
And her lip, and cheek, and brow 
Were almost as white as her baby's now. 

And then some things were put away, 
The crimson frock, and wrappings gay; 
The little sock, and the half- worn shoe, 
The cap with its plume and tassels blue; 
And an empty crib stands with covers spread, 
As white as the face of the sinless dead. 

'Tis a little grave; but oh! what care! 
What world-wide hopes are buried there! 
And ye, perhaps, in coming years, 
May see, like her, through blinding tears, 
How much of light, how much of joy, 
Is buried with an only boyl 



54 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The People's Holidays. 

Marianne Farningham. 

Not alone for the rich and great 
Are the beautiful works of God; 

The mountain's slopes and the ocean's beach 
By the people's feet are trod, 

And the poor man's children sing and dance 
On the green flower-covered sod. 

Not alone for the cultured eyes 
Do the sweet flowers spring and grow; 

There is scarcely living a man so poor 
But he may their sweetness know; 

And out of the town to the fresh fair fields 
The toilers all can go. 

Away from the factory shop and desk, 
Where the diligent work in throngs, 

They go sometimes to the well-earned rest 
That to faithful zeal belongs ; 

And the shore and the forest welcome them, 
And the larks pour down their songs. 

" Man does not live by bread alone," 

And well it needs must be 
That we all should look on our Father's works 

By the river and lake and sea, 
And spend our souls in adoring praise, 

For He careth for you and me. 

And well may all with a stronger hand, 

And a braver, truer heart, 
Go back to the task that God has given, 

And faithfully do our part ; 
And bear in our souls the peace of the fields, 

To the counter, the desk, and the mart. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 55 

A Battle. 

Charles Sttmker. 

Nobody sees a battle. The common soldier fires 
away amid a smoke-mist, or hurries on to the charge 
in a crowd which hides everything from him. The 
officer is too anxious about the performance of what 
he is especially charged with to mind what others are 
doing. 

The commander cannot be present everywhere, and 
see every wood, watercourse, or ravine, in which his 
orders are carried into execution; he learns from re- 
ports how the work goes on. It is well; for a battle 
is one of those jobs which men do without daring to 
look upon. 

Over miles of country, at every field-fence, in every 
gorge of a valley, or entry into a wood, there is murder 
committing — wholesale, continuous, reciprocal mur- 
der. The human form, God's image, is mutilated, 
deformed, lacerated, in every possible way, and by 
every variety of torture. 

The wounded are jolted off in carts to the rear, 
their bared nerves crushed into maddening pain at 
every stone or rut; or the flight and pursuit trample 
over them, leaving them to writhe and groan without 
assistance; and fever and thirst, the most enduring of 
painful sensations, possess them entirely. 

Thirst, too, has seized upon the yet able-bodied 
soldier, who, with bloodshot eye and tongue lolling 
out, plies his trade; blaspheming, killing with savage 
delight, callous when the brains of his best-loved com- 
rade are spattered over him! The battlefield is, if 
possible, a more painful object of contemplation than 



56 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

the combatants. They are, in their vocation, earning 
their bread. What will not men do for a shilling a 
day? 

But their work is carried on amid the fields, gar- 
dens, and homesteads of men unused to war. They 
left their homes, with all that habit and happy asso- 
ciations have made precious, to bear its brunt. The 
poor, the aged, the sick are left in a hurry, to be 
killed by stray shots or beaten down, as the charge 
or counter-charge goes over them. The ripening grain 
is trampled down; the garden is trodden into a black 
mud; the fruit-trees, bending beneath their luscious 
load, are shattered by the cannon-shot; churches and 
private dwellings are used as fortresses, and ruined 
in the conflict; barns and granaries take fire, and the 
conflagration spreads on all sides. 

At night the steed is stabled beside the altar, and 
the weary homicides of the day complete the wreck- 
ing of houses to make their lairs for slumber. The 
fires of the bivouac complete what the fires kindled by 
the battle have not consumed. 

The surviving soldiers march on, to act the same 
scenes over again elsewhere; and the remnant of the 
scattered inhabitants return, to find the mangled 
bodies of those they had loved amid the blackened 
ruins of their homes; to mourn, with more than 
agonizing grief, over the missing, of whose fate they 
are uncertain; to feci themselves bankrupt in the 
world's stores, and look from their children to the 
desolate fields and garners, and think of famine and 
pestilence, engendered by the rotting bodies of the 
half-buried myriads of slain. 

Give me the money that has been spent in war and 



Miscellaneous Selections. 57 

I will purchase every foot of land upon the globe. I 
will clothe every man, woman, and child in an attire 
of which kings and queens would be proud. I will 
build a school-house on every hill-side and in every 
valley over the whole earth. I will build an academy 
and endow it, and a college in every State, and fill it 
with able professors. I will crown every hill-side with 
a place of worship consecrated to the gospel of peace. 
I will support in every pulpit an able teacher of right- 
eousness, so that on every Sabbath morning the chime 
on one hill should answer to the chime on another 
around the earth's wide circumference, and the voice 
of prayer and the song of praise should ascend like a 
universal holocaust to heaven. 



The Barbarous Chief. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
There was a kingdom known as the Mind, 

A kingdom vast, as fair, 
And the brave King Brain had the right to reign 

In royal splendor there. 
Oh ! that was a beautiful, beautiful land 

Which unto this king was given; 
It was filled with everything good and grand, 

And it reached from earth to heaven. 

But a savage monster came one day, 

From over a distant border; 
He made war on the king and usurped his sway, 

And set everything in disorder. 
He mounted the throne, which he made his own, 

And the kingdom was sunk in grief, 
There was sorrow and shame from the hour he came — 

111 Temper, the barbarous chief. 



58 Pieces for Every 



ccasion. 



He threw down the castles of Love and Peace, 

He burned up the altars of prayers; 
He trod down the grain that was sowed by Brain, 

And planted thistles and tares. 
He wasted the storehouse of knowledge, and drove 

Queen Wisdom away in fright, 
And a terrible gloom like the cloud of doom 

Shadowed that land with night. 

Then, bent on more havoc, away he rushed 

To the neighboring kingdom Heart, 
And the blossoms of kindness and hope he crushed, 

And patience was made to depart. 
And he even went on to the isthmus Soul, 

That unites the Mind with God, 
And its beautiful bowers and fragrant flowers 

With a reckless heel he trod. 

Oh ! to you is given this beautiful land 

Where the lordly Brain has sway — 
But the border ruffian is near at hand — 

And be on your guard, I pray. 
Beware of 111 Temper, the barbarous chief, 

He is cruel as Vice or Sin; 
He will certainly bring your kingdom grief, 

If once you let him in. 



The Friend of My Heart. 

Commend me to the friend that comes 

When I am sad and lone, 
And makes the anguish of my heart 

The suffering of his own; 
Who coldly shuns the glittering throng 

At pleasure's gay levee, 
And comes to gild a somber hour 

And give his heart to me. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 59 

He hears me count my sorrows o'er, 

And when the task is done 
He freely gives me all I ask — 

A sigh for every one. 
He cannot wear a smiling face 

When mine is touched with gloom, 
But, like the violet, seeks to cheer 

The midnight with perfume. 

Commend me to that generous heart 

Which, like the pine on high, 
Uplifts the same unvarying brow 

To every change of sky; 
Whose friendship does not fade away 

When wintry tempests blow, 
But, like the winter's icy crown, 

Looks greener through the snow. 

He flies not with the flitting stork 

That seeks a Southern sky, 
But lingers where the wounded bird 

Hath laid him down to die. 
Oh, such a friend! He is, in truth, 

Whate'er his lot may be, 
A rainbow on the storm of life, 

An anchor on its sea. 



The Southern Soldier. 

Henry "W. Grady. 

You of the North, have had drawn for you with 
a master's hand the picture of your returning armies. 
You have heard how, in the pomp and circumstance 
of war, they came back to you, marching wdth proud 
and victorious tread, reading their glory in a nation's 
eyes. Will you bear with me while I tell you of 



60 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

another army that sought its home at the close of the 
late war — an army that marched home in defeat and 
not in victory, in pathos and not in splendor? 

Let me picture to yon the footsore Confederate 
soldier, as, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the 
parole which was the testimony to his children of his 
fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward from 
Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as ragged, 
half-starved, heavy-hearted, enfeebled by want and 
wounds; having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders 
his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in silence, 
and lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last 
time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls 
his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and 
painful journey. 

What does he find — let me ask you, who went to 
your homes eager to find, in the welcome you had 
justly earned, full payment for four years' sacrifice — 
what does he find when having followed the battle- 
stained cross against overwhelming odds, dreading 
death not half so much as surrender, he reaches the 
home he left so prosperous and beautiful? 

He finds his house in ruins, his farms devastated, 
his slaves free, his stock killed, his barns empty, his 
trade destro} r ed, his money worthless; his social sys- 
tem, feudal in its magnificence, swept away; his people 
without law or legal status, his comrades slain, and 
the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders. Crushed 
by defeat, his very traditions are gone; without money, 
credit, employment, material, or training; and beside 
all this, confronted with the gravest problem that 
ever met human intelligence — the establishing of a 
status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 61 

What does he do — this hero in gray, with a heart 
of gold? Does he sit down in snllenness and despair? 
Not for a day. Surely God, who had stripped him in 
his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity. As ruin 
was never so overwhelming, never was restoration 
swifter. The soldier stepped from the trenches into 
the furrow; horses that had charged Federal guns 
marched before the plow, and fields that ran red with 
blood in April were green with the harvest in June. 

Never was nobler duty confided to human hands 
than the uplifting and upbuilding of the prostrate 
and bleeding South, misguided, perhaps, but beautiful 
in her suffering. In the record of her social, indus- 
trial, and political evolution, we await with confidence 
the verdict of the world. 



The Coast-Guard. 

Emily Huntington Miller. 

Do you wonder what I am seeing, 

In the heart of the fire, aglow 
Like cliffs in a golden sunset, 

With a summer sea below ? 
I see, away to the eastward, 

The line of a storm-beat coast, 
And I hear the tread of the hurrying waves 

Like the tramp of the mailed host. 

And up and down in the darkness, 

And over the frozen sand, 
I hear the men of the coast-guard 

Pacing along the strand, 



62 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Beaten by storm and tempest, 
And drenched by the pelting rain, 

From the shores of Carolina 
To the wind-swept bays of Maine. 

No matter what storms are raging, 

No matter how wild the night, 
The gleam of their swinging lanterns 

Shines out with a friendly light. 
And many a shipwrecked sailor 

Thanks God, with his gasping breath, 
For the sturdy arms of the surfmen 

That drew him away from death. 

And so, when the wind is wailing, 

And the air grows dim with sleet, 
I think of the fearless watchers 

Pacing along their beat. 
I think of a wreck, fast breaking 

In the surf of a rocky shore, 
And the life-boat leaping onward 

To the stroke of the bending oar. 

I hear the shouts of the sailors, 
The boom of the frozen sail, 

And the creak of the icy halyards 
Straining against the gale. 
" Courage !" the captain trumpets, 

" They are sending help from land !" 

God bless the men of the coast-guard, 
And hold their lives in His hand ! 



The Inquiry. 

Charles Mackay. 

Tell me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar, 
Do ye know not some spot where mortals weep no more ? 



Miscellaneous Selections. 63 

Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west, 
Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest ? 
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, 
And sigh'd for pity as it answer'd " ISTo." 

Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play, 
Know'st thou some favor'd spot, some island far away, 
Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs — 
Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies ? 
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, 
Stopp'd for a while, and sigh'd to answer, " No." 

Tell me, my secret soul; oh! tell me, Hope and Faith, 
Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death ? 
Is there no happy spot where mortals may be bless'd — 
Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest ? 

Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, 
Waved their bright wings, and whisper'd, "Yes, in 
Heaven." 



Compromise of Principle. 

Hexry Ward Beecher. 

In the march of nations our country has kept step. 
We know it by the victory of ideas, by the recognition 
of principles instead of mere policies. The tree of 
life, whose leaves were for the healing of the na- 
tions, has been evilly dealt with. Its boughs have been 
lopped, and its roots starved till its fruit is knurly. 
But now again it blooms. The air is fragrant in its 
opening buds; the young fruit is setting. God has re- 
turned and looked upon it, and, behold, summer is in 
all its branches! 

I do not wish you to think that the background is 
not dark; for it is. There is excitement. There is 



64 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

brewing mischief. The clouds lie lurid along the 
Southern horizon. The Caribbean Sea, that breeds 
tornadoes and whirlwinds, has heaped up treasures of 
storms portentous that seem about to break. Let 
them break! God has appointed their bounds. Xot 
till the sea drives back the shore, and the Atlantic 
submerges the continent, will this tumult of an angry 
people move the firm decrees of God. Selfish interests, 
if they are our pilots, will betray us. Vain-glory will 
destroy us. Pride will wreck us. Expedients are for 
an hour, but principles are for the ages. Nothing can 
be permanent and nothing safe in this exigency that 
does not sink deeper than politics or money. We must 
touch the rock or we shall never have firm founda- 
tions. 

It is rank infidelity, stupendous infatuation, to sup- 
pose that the greatness of this nation ever sprung from 
the wisdom of expediency, instead of the power of set- 
tled principles. Your harbor did not make you rich; 
you made the harbor rich. Your ships did not create 
your commerce; your commerce created your ships, 
and you created your commerce. Your stores did not 
make traffic. Your factories did not create enterprise. 
Your firms, your committees, your treaties, and your 
legislation did not create national prosperity. Our 
past greatness sprung from our obedience to God's 
natural and moral law. TVe had men trained to cour- 
age, to virtue, to wisdom. And manhood — manhood — 
manhood — exercised in the fear of God has made this 
nation. 

When night is on the deep, when the headlands are 
obscured by the darkness, and when storm is in the air, 
that man who undertakes to steer by looking over the 



Miscellaneous Selections. 65 

side of the ship, over the bow or over the stern, or 
by looking at the clouds or his own fears, is a fool. 
There is a silent needle in the binnacle which points 
like the finger of God, telling the mariner which way 
to steer, and enabling him to outride the storm and 
reach the harbor in safety. And what the compass 
is to navigation, that is moral principle in political 
affairs. 



Failed. 

Phillips Thompsc-Js. 

Failed! Jim Miserton failed! You don't mean to say it's so? 
Had it from Smith at the Bank ? Well, he's a man that should 

know. 
Forty-two cents on the dollar ? I cannot believe my ears. 
There's no such thing as judging a man by the way he appears. 

Yes, you may well say "failed;" there's more than the term 

implies, 
When all there is of a man in a hopeless ruin lies. 
To come after twenty years of a stubborn up-hill strife, 
It isn't a business smash so much as a failure in life. 

Gold was always his god — he'd nothiug else in his soul; 
Money, for money's sake, was ever his ultimate goal. 
A " self-made man" they styled him, for low and poor he be- 
gan; 
But now his money has vanished, and what is left of the man ? 

He had no eye for beauty, for literature no taste; 
Buying pictures or books he counted a shameful waste. 
Nothing he cared for art or the poet's elaborate rhymes; 
His soul was only attuned to the musical jingle of dimes. 



66 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Selfish, exacting, and stern, a hand he would treat like a 

slave; 
Long were his hours of toil, and scanty the pay that he gave ; 
Made of cast-iron himself, his zeal in the struggle for gold 
Left him no pity to spare for those of a different mold. 

Never a cent for the poor, for the naked never a stitch; 
'Twas all their fault, he would say; they should save like him, 

and grow rich. 
Now and then to a church he'd forward a liberal amount, 
Duly set down in his books to the advertising account. 

So he succeeded, of course, and piled his coffers with wealth, 
Missing pleasure and culture, losing vigor and health; 
Now he's down at the bottom, exactly where he began; 
Even his gold has vanished, and what is left of the man ? 

A self-made man, indeed ! then we owe no honor to such; 

The genuine self-made man you cannot honor too much; 

But be sure what you make is & man — with a heart, and a 

soul, and a mind, 
Not merely a pile of dollars, that goes, leaving nothing: behind. 



A Swedish Poem. 

It matters little where I was born, 

If my parents were rich or poor; 
Whether they shrank at the cold world's scorn, 

Or walked in the pride of wealth secure; 
But whether I live an honest man, 

And hold my integrity firm in my clutch, 
I tell you, my brother, as plain as I am, 
It matters much! 

It matters little how long I stay 

In a world of sorrow and care; 
Whether in youth I'm called away, 

Or live till my hones and pate are bare; 



Miscellaneous Selections. 67 

But whether I do the best I can 

To soften the weight of adversity's touch 
On the faded cheek of my fellow-man, 
It matters much! 

It matters little where is my grave, 

On the land or on the sea; 
By purling brook or 'neath stormy wave, 

It matters little or naught to me; 
But whether the angel Death comes down, 

And marks my brow with his loving touch 
As one that shall wear the victor's crown, 
It matters much! 



The Silvee Bird's Nest. 

A steanded soldier's epaulet 

The waters cast ashore, 
A little winged rover met, 

And eyed it o'er and o'er; 
The silver bright so charmed her sight, 

On that lone idle vest, 
She knew not why she should deny 

Herself a silver nest. 

The shining wire she pecked and twirled, 

Then bore it to her bough, 
"Where on a flowery twig 'twas curled, 

The bird can show you how; 
But when enough of that bright stuff 

The cunning builder bore, 
Her house to make, she would not take, 

Nor did she covet, more. 

And when the little artisan — 
While neither pride nor guilt 

Had entered in her pretty plan — 
Her resting-place had built, 



68 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

With here and there a plume to spare, 
About her own light form, 

Of these, inlaid with skill, she made 
A lining soft and warm. 

But do you think the tender brood 

She fondled there, and fed, 
Were prouder when they understood 

The sheen about their bed ? 
Do you suppose they ever rose, 

Of higher powers possessed, 
Because they knew they peeped and grew 

Within a silver nest ? 



Only in Dreams. 

Joseph Gilbert Holland. 

I count this thing to be grandly true: 
That a'noble deed is a step towards God, 
Lifting the soul from the common clod 

To a purer air and a broader view. 

We rise by things that are under our feet, 
By what we have mastered of good and gain, 
By the pride deposed and passion slain, 

By the vanquished ills we hourly meet. 

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we trust, 
When the morning calls us to life and light; 
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night 

Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. 

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, 
And we think we mount the air on wings, 
Beyond the recall of sensual things, 

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 69 

Wings for the angels, but feet for men! 

We may borrow the wings to find the way; 

We may hope and resolve, aspire and pray; 
But our feet must rise, or we fall again. 

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; 
But the dreams depart and the vision falls, 

And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound, 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies. 

And we mount to the summit round by round. 



At Graduating Time. 

The graduates are going forth — 

God bless them every one ! — 
To run this hard and stubborn world 

Just as it should be run ; 
But much I fear they'll find that facts 

Don't always track with dreams ; 
And running this old earth is not 

As easy as it seems. 

As seniors we are prone to think 

Our wisdom is complete. 
We've but to ask — the world will lay 

Its trophies at our feet. 
But schooldays done and work begun, 

We learn to our regret 
The College of Experience 

We have not mastered yet. 

Ambition beckons on to us 

And eagerly we press 
Toward a distant, gleaming goal, 

The Temple of Success. 



70 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

It seems a pleasant journey at 
The dawning of life's day ; 

But as we stumble on, it grows 
A long and weary way. 

The world has garlands and applause 

At graduating time ; 
But may forget us the next day, 

When we attempt to climb. 
Life is a battle where each one 

Must seek and hold his own. 
He who would rise above the crowd 

Must scale the heights alone. 

This is the rule of life to-day, 

As it has ever been ; 
The world bestows its smiles on those 

Who have the strength to win. 
Beneath all outward semblances 

It looks for merit true. 
It little cares how much you know, 

But asks, what can you do? 

When you have left your college halls 

You're barely at the start, 
For Wisdom's height is infinite 

And long the ways of Art. 
You'll find that in the school of life 

Acts count for more than dreams ; 
And running this old earth is not 

As easy as it seems. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 71 

Sparrows. 

Adeline D. T. Whitney. 
Little birds sit on the telegraph wires, 

And chitter and flitter and fold their wings. 
Maybe they think that for them and their sires 

Stretched always on purpose, those wonderful strings; 
And perhaps the thought that the world inspires 

Did plan for the birds among other things. 

Little birds sit on the slender lines, 

And the news of the world runs under their feet: 
How value rises and now declines, 

How kings with their armies in battle meet; 
ind all the while, 'mid the soundless signs, 

They chirp their small gossipings, foolish and sweet. 

Little-things light on the lines of our lives — 

Hopes and joys and acts of to-day; 
And we think that for these the Lord contrives, 

Nor catch what the hidden lightnings say; 
Yet from end to end his meaning arrives, 

And his word runs underneath all the way. 

Is life only wires and lightning, then, 

Apart from that which about it clings ? 
Are the thoughts and the works and the prayers of men 

Only sparrows that light on God's telegraph strings — 
Holding a moment and gone again ? 

Nay: he planned for the birds with the larger things! 



The Unconscious Greatness of Stonewall 
Jackson. 

Moses D. Hoge, D. D. 

The greatness of Stonewall Jackson was an uncon- 
scious greatness. It was the supreme devotion to what 



72 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

he thought was duty. Hence he studied no dramatic 
effects. When among the mountains, pyramids older 
than those to which the first Napoleon pointed, he did 
not remind his men that the centuries were looking 
down upon them. When on the plains he drilled no 
eagles to perch upon his banners, as the third Napo- 
leon is said to have done. 

The letter written to his pastor at Lexington, the 
day after the first battle of Manassas, gives the keynote 
to his character. Preceding any accurate account of 
that event, a crowd had gathered around the post 
office, awaiting with intensest interest the opening 
of the mail. The first letter was handed to the Eev. 
Dr. White. It was from General Jackson. " Now we 
shall know all," said his reverend friend. But he 
opened the letter to read: 

My Dear. Pastor: 

In my tent last night, after a fatiguing day's service, 
I remembered that I had failed to send you my 
contribution to our colored Sunday school. Inclosed 
you will find my check for that object. 
Yours faithfully, 

Thomas J. Jacksox. 

Not a word about a conflict which electrified a nation! 
Not an allusion to the splendid part he had taken in it! 
Not a reference to himself beyond the fact that it had 
been a fatiguing day's service! And yet that was a 
day ever memorable in his history — memorable in all 
history — when he received the name destined to sup- 
plant the name his parents gave him — Stonewall Jack- 
son. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 73 

When his brigade of twenty-six hundred men had 
for honrs withstood the iron tempest which broke 
upon it; when the Confederate right had been over- 
whelmed in the rush of resistless numbers,, General 
Bee rode up to Jackson, and with despairing bitterness 
exclaimed: " General, they are beating us back." 
" Then/' said Jackson, " we will give them the bayo- 
net." Bee seemed to catch the inspiration of his de- 
termined will, and, galloping back to the broken frag- 
ments of his overtaxed command, exclaimed: ''There 
is Jackson standing like a stone wall. Bally behind 
the Virginians! " From that time Jackson's was 
known as the " Stonewall Brigade," — a name hence- 
forth immortal, for the christening was in the blood 
of its author. And that wall of brave hearts was on 
every battlefield a steadfast bulwark of their country. 

In the State where all that is mortal of this great 
hero sleeps there is a natural bridge of rock whose 
massive arch, fashioned with grace by the hand of God, 
springs lightly toward the sky, spanning a chasm into 
whose awful depths the beholder looks down, bewil- 
dered and awe-struck. But its grandeur is not dimin- 
ished because tender vines clamber over its gigantic 
piers or because sweet flowers nestle in its crevices. 
Xor is the granite strength of Jackson's character 
weakened because in every throb of his heart there 
was a pulsation ineffably and exquisitely tender. The 
hum of bees, the fragrance of clover fields, the tender 
streaks of dawn, the dewy brightness of early spring, 
the mellow glories of matured autumn, all in turn 
charmed and tranquilized him. The eye that flashed 
amid the smoke of battle grew soft in contemplating 
the beauty of a flower. The ear that thrilled with the 



74 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

thunder of the cannonade drank in with innocent de- 
light the song of birds and the prattle of children's 
voices. The voice whose sharp and ringing tones had 
so often been heard uttering the command, " Give 
them the bayonet! " culled even from foreign tongues 
terms of endearment. And the man . who filled two 
hemispheres with his fame was never so happy as 
when telling the colored children of his Sunday school 
the story of the Cross. 

It was in the noontide of his glory that he fell. 
What a pall of sadness shrouded the whole land! And 
where in the annals of the world's sorrow was there 
such a pathetic impersonation of a people's grief as 
was embodied in the old mutilated veteran of Jack- 
son's division who, as the shades of evening fell and 
the doors of the Capitol were being closed for the last 
time, was seen anxiously pressing through the crowd 
to take his last look at the face of his beloved leader. 
They told him that he was too late, that they were 
closing the coffin for the last time. But the old 
soldier, lifting the stump of his right arm toward the 
heavens, and with tears running down his face, ex- 
claimed: "By the right arm which I lost for my 
country, I demand the privilege of seeing my general 
once more." So irresistible was the appeal that the 
Governor ordered the ceremonies to be stayed until 
the humble comrade had dropped his tear upon the 
face of his dead leader. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 75 

The Monk's Vision. 

I read a legend of a monk who painted, 

In an old convent cell in days bygone, 
Pictures of martyrs and of virgins sainted, 

And the sweet Christ-face with the crown of thorn. 

Poor daubs, not fit to be a chapel's treasure — 
Full many a taunting word upon them fell ; 

But the good abbot let him, for his pleasure, 
Adorn with them his solitary cell. 

One night the poor monk mused : ' ' Could I but render 
Honor to Christ as other painters do — 

"Were but my skill as great as is the tender 
Love that inspires me when Hi 3 cross I view! 

" But no ; 'tis vain I toil and strive in sorrow; 

What man so scorns, still less can He admire ; 
My life's work is all valueless ; to-morrow 

I'll cast my ill- wrought pictures in the fire." 

He raised his eyes ; within his cell— 0, wonder ! — 
There stood a visitor ; thorn-crowned was he, 

And a sweet voice the silence rent asunder: 
" I scorn no work that's done for love of me." 

And round the walls the paintings shone resplendent 
With lights and colors to this world unknown, 

A perfect beauty and a hue transcendent, 
That never yet on mortal canvas shone. 

There is a meaning in this strange old story: 

Let none dare judge his brother's worth or need ; 

The pure intent gives to the act its glory; 
The noblest purpose makes the grandest deed. 



76 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

A Turkish Tradition. 

'Tis said the Turk, when passing down 

An Eastern street, 
If any scrap of paper chance 

His eyes to greet, 

"Will never look away, like us, 

Unheedingly, 
Or pass the little fragment thus 

Kegardless by, 

But stop to pick it up because, 
Oh, lovely thought ! 

The name of God may thereupon 
Perchance be wrought. 

In every human soul remains, 

However dim, 
Some image of the Deity, 

Some trace of Him. 

And how can we, then, any scorn 

As foul and dark, 
That bear, though frail and lowly, still 

That holy mark ? 

And since His impress is upon 

All nature seen, 
How can we aught disdain as common 

Or unclean ? 



The University the Training Camp 
of the Future. 

Henry W. Grady. 

We are standing in the daybreak of the second cen- 
tury of this Republic. The fixed stars are fading from 
the sky, and we grope in uncertain light. The unrest 



Miscellaneous Selections. 77 

of dawn impels us to and fro, but Doubt stalks amid 
the confusion, and even on the beaten paths the shift- 
ing crowds are halted, and from the shadows the sen- 
tries cry: "Who comes there?" 

Nothing steadfast or approved. The church is 
besieged from without and betrayed from within. Be- 
hind the courts smoulders the rioter's torch and looms 
the gibbet of the anarchist. Trade is restless in the 
grasp of monopoly, and commerce shackled with limi- 
tation. The cities are swollen, and the fields are 
stripped. Splendor streams from the castle, and 
squalor crouches in the home. The universal brother- 
hood is dissolving, and the people are huddling into 
classes. The hiss of the Nihilist disturbs the covert, 
and the roar of the mob murmurs along the highway. 
Amid it all beats the great American heart, undis- 
mayed; and, standing fast by the challenge of his con- 
science, the citizen of the Eepublic, tranquil and reso- 
lute, notes the drifting of the spectral currents and 
calmly awaits the full disclosures of the day. 

Who shall be the heralds of this coming day? Who 
shall tread the way of honor and safety through these 
besetting problems? You, my countrymen, you! The 
university is the training camp of the future; the 
scholar, the champion of the coming years. Napoleon 
overran Europe with drum-tap and bivouac; the next 
Napoleon shall form his battalions at the tap of the 
schoolhouse bell, and his captains shall come with 
cap and gown. "Waterloo was won at Oxford; Sedan at 
Berlin. So Germany plants her colleges in the shadow 
of the French forts, and the professor smiles amid his 
students as he notes the sentinel stalking against the 
sky. The farmer has learned that brains mix better 



78 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

with his soil than the waste of seabirds. A button is 
pressed by a child's finger and the work of a million 
men is done. The hand is nothing; the brain every- 
thing. 

Physical prowess has had its day, and the age of 
reason has come. The lion-hearted Eichard challeng- 
ing Saladin to single combat is absurd. Science is 
everything! She draws Boston within three hours of 
New York, renews the famished soil, routs her view- 
less bondsmen from the electric center of the earth, 
and then turns to watch the new Icarus as, mounting 
in his flight to the sun, he darkens the burnished ceil- 
ing of the sky with the shadow of his wing. 

Learning is supreme, and you are its prophets. Here 
are the Olympic games of the Republic — and you are 
its chosen athletes. It is yours, then, to grapple with 
these problems, to confront and master these dangers. 
Yours to decide whether the tremendous forces of this 
Republic shall be kept in balance, or whether, unbal- 
anced, they shall bring chaos; whether sixty million 
men are capable of self-government, or whether liberty 
shall be lost to them who would give their lives to 
maintain it. Your responsibility is appalling. You 
stand in the pass behind which the world's liberties 
are guarded. 

This government carries the hopes of the human 
race. Blot out the beacon that lights the portals of 
this Republic, and the world is adrift again. But save 
the Republic, establish the light of its beacon over the 
troubled waters, and one by one the nations of the 
earth shall drop anchor and be at rest in the harbor 
of universal liberty. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 79 

How the Ramsom Was Paid. 

On the helpless Flemish village 

Cruel Alva swooped and fell, 
And the peace of trade and tillage 

Turned to martial clank and yell. 
In the town house, tall and handsome, 

Stood the great duke, looking down 
On the burghers profTring ransom 

For the safety of the town. 

O'er his brow, gray locks were twining — 

For his casque was laid aside, 
And his good sword carved and shining, 

From his sword belt was untied. 
Prince he seemed of born commanders; 

Pride and power each gesture told, 
As he cried, "Ye men of Flanders, 

Bring me twenty casks of gold! " 

Then upon them fell a sadness, 

And a shadow like a pall! 
While they murmured, " 'Tis rank madness 

Such a sum from us to call." 
And the spokesman of the village 

Murmured feebly, " Sure you jest." 
Answered Alva, ' ' Gold or pillage — 

Choose whiche'er may suit you best! " 

Faint and stunned, they turned despairing, 

"When arose a laugh of joy — 
And before their startled staring 

In there pranced a little boy. 
On his curls, the duke's helmet rested, 

As his noisy glee he roared, 
And his good steed, mailed and crested, 

Was great Alva's mighty sword! 



80 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Round about the room he gamboled, 

Peeping through the helmet bars; 
Now he leaped and now he ambled, 

Like a Cupid mocking Mars. 
Then he stayed his merry prancing 

And of Alva's knees caught hold, 
Where a ray of sunlight glancing 

Turned his sunny curls to gold. 

Swift the mother, sorely frightened, 

Strove to take the cherub wild, 
But the duke's stern features lightened 

As he kept her from the child, 
And he drank the pretty prattle — 

For the baby knew no fear — 
Till his eye, so fierce in battle, 

Softened with a pearly tear. 

For a baby rose before him 

In fair Spain, ere war's alarms — 
Thus his father's sword upbore him — 

Alva caught the boy in arms; 
And, the pretty forehead baring, 

Cried, " A kiss ! " The child obeyed, 
Then unto those men despairing 

Alva said : " Your ransom's paid ! " 



The Draw-Bridge Keeper. 

Henry Abbey. 

Drecker, the draw-bridge keeper, opened wide 
The dangerous gate, to let the vessel through. 

His little son was standing by his side, 
Above Passaic river, deep and blue, 

While in the distance, like a moan of pain, 

Was heard the whistle of the coming train. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 81 

At once brave Decker worked to swing it back — 
The gate-like bridge, that seems a gate of .death ; 

Nearer and nearer, on the slender track, 
Came the swift engine puffing its white breath. 

Then, with a shriek, the loving father saw 

His darling boy fall headlong from the draw. 

Either at once down in the stream to spring 
And save his son, and let the living freight 

Kush on to death, or to his work to cling, 
And leave his boy unhelped to meet his fate — 

"Which should he do? Were you, as he was, tried, 

Would not your love outweigh all else beside? 

And yet the child to him was full as dear 
As yours may be to you— the light of eyes, 

A presence like a brighter atmosphere, 
The household star that shone in love's mild skies — 

Yet side by side with duty, stern and grim, 

Even his child became as nought to him. 

For Drecker, being great of soul, and true, 
Held to his work and did not aid his boy, 

Who in the deep, dark water sank from view. 
Then from the father's life went forth all joy; 

But as he fell back, pallid with his pain, 

Across the bridge, in safety, passed the train. 

And yet the man was poor, and in his breast 
Flowed no ancestral blood of king or lord. 

True greatness needs no title and no crest 
To win from men just honor and reward; 

Nobility is not of rank, but mind, 

And is inborn and common in our kind. 

He is most noble whose humanity 
Is least corrupted. To be just and good 

The birthright of the lowest born may be; 
Say what we can, we are one brotherhood, 

And, rich or poor, or famous or unknown, 

True hearts are noble, and true hearts alone. 



82 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Real Power. 

Wealth is power, talent is power, and knowledge 
is power. But there is a mightier force in the world 
than any of these — a power which wealth is not rich 
enough to purchase, nor talent strong enough to over- 
come, nor knowledge wise enough to overreach; all 
these tremble in its presence. It is truth — the most 
potent element in our social and individual life. 
Though tossed upon the billows of popular commo- 
tion, or cast into the seven-fold furnace of persecu- 
tion, or trampled into the dust by the iron heel of 
power, truth is the one indestructible thing in this 
world, that loses in no conflict, surfers from no mis- 
usage and abuse, and maintains its vitality and com- 
pleteness after every reverse. All kinds of conspiracies 
have been exhausted to crush it, and all kinds of plans 
laid to vitiate and poison it; but none has succeeded, 
and none ever will. We can be confident of nothing 
else in this world but the safety and imperishability 
of truth — for it is part of the Divine nature, and in- 
vested with the character of its author. It may often 
seem to be in danger; it is as much set upon and as- 
saulted now as ever, but history and experience ought 
to reassure our faith. It has never yet failed, and it 
never will. It has always accomplished its end, and 
always will. We may rest serenely upon it, and feel no 
alarm; we may anticipate its success, and enjoy its 
triumphs in advance. In this struggling life, what en- 
couragement and comfort is there in this thought — 
that the man of truth and the cause of truth have 
the certainty of success; they cannot fail. " Truth 
crushed to earth will rise again.". It cannot be put down. 



Miscellaneous Selections. 83 

The Angel of Dawk. 

J. S. Cutler. 

One morn an angel stopped beside my door, 
Clad in the shining garments of the dawn; 

Upon his brow a starry crown he wore; 
In his right hand a flaming sword was drawn. 

With terror filled, I prayed with piteous cry 

The angel-presence then to pass me by. 

" I am not death," the angel said, and smiled; 

" Thy soul sha! 1 have the answer to thy prayer. 
Drive from thy breast this fearful anguish wild; 

I am the Angel of the Dawn — beware ! 
I place a priceless jewel in thy hands; 
The day is thine, waste not its running sands. 

" Therefore mark well — thy duty waiteth thee, 
Beside the morning's swiftly opening gate; 

The new day dawns — its hours will quickly flee; 
Stamp them with honor ere it be too late; 

Thy deed may lift thee higher than thy prayer. 

The day is thine, remember and beware !" 

And then the angel took his shining way, 
On silent wings, out to the shadowy west; 

And swiftly onward came the new-born day, 
The priceless jewel of my angel-guest. 

The birds awoke and filled the world with song, 

And made my burden light the whole day long. 

And now, when morning throws its early beams 

In golden rays across the ocean's floor, 
And I awake from slumbering and dreams, 

I know an angel waiteth at the door; 
I hear again that kindly voice declare — 
" Thy deed may lift thee higher than thy prayer." 



84 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Amen of the Rocks. 

Christian Gellert. 

The Venerable Bede, with age grown blind, 
Still went abroad to preach the new evangel. 

From town to town, village to village, journeyed 
The saintly elder, with a lad for guide, 

And preached the word with youthful zeal and fervor; 
And once the lad led him along a vale, 

All scattered o'er with mighty moss-grown bowlders. 

More thoughtless than malicious quoth the urchin, 
" Here, reverend father, many men have come, 
And all the multitude await thy sermon." 
The blind old man stood upright at his speech, 
And spake his text, explained it, thence digressed, 
Exhorted, warned, reproved, and comforted, 
So earnestly that tears of love and joy 
Ran down his cheeks, and on his long gray beard; 

Then, as was meet, he ended with " Our Father, 

Thine is the kingdom, Thine the power, and Thine 
The glory is forever and forever." 
Then came a thousand, thousand answering voices — 
" Yea, reverend father, amen and amen." 
Then, terrified, the boy fell down repentant, 
Confessing to the saint his ill behavior. 

" Son," said the holy man, "didst thou read never 
That stones themselves shall cry if man is silent ? 
Play thou no more, my son, with things divine. 
God's word is powerful, and cuts more sharp 
Than any two-edged sword. And if it be 
That man toward the Lord is stony hearted, 
A human heart shall wake in stones, and witness. " 



CONCEET KECITATIONS. 



Songs of the Seasons. 

Meta E. B. Thorne. 

[For Four Students.] 
SPRING. 

The king of the day is exerting his power, 

And night and cold at his bidding depart; 
All nature in this resurrection hour 

Will welcome my advent with joyous heart. 
Then hasten, my children ! Ho, March winds wild. 

O'er mountain and valley, blow, madly blow ! 
Proclaim the glad coming of springtime mild, 

And speed the departure of frost and snow ! 
Ye clouds of April, drop down your showers, 

And fill to the brim the rivers and rills 
With liquid laughter; May's delicate flowers 

Await your dripping 'mong valleys and hills. 

SUMMER. 

Spring scattered the seed with a lavish hand, 

Her whispering breezes and magic showers 
Awoke into life; see the serried ranks stand 

Of fervid July's lush grasses and flowers. 
Then August comes with her sultry noons 

Whose hot breath gildeth the ripening grain, 
And the glorious light of her harvest moons; 

Now the reaper sings as he sweeps the plain: 
" My gleaming scythe I swing to and fro; 

Before it is falling the golden wheat — 
A precious store for the time of the snow; 

All praise to the Giver of mercies so sweet !" 



bd Pieces for Every Occasion. 

AUTUMN. 

The plentiful harvest is garnered in ; 

But I bring September's bounteous store 
Of glowing fruitage, all hearts to win; 

Now the summer's brilliant reign is o'er. 
Now, royal October the scepter wields, 

In whose wealth of rosy and mellow light 
Seem glorified even the bare brown fields, 

With their delicate veil of haze bedight. 
And e'en when November, dark and chill, 

In her cloud-robe somber broods o'er the earth, 
When the birds are hushed 'mid woodland and hill, 

And the flowers are asleep till the spring's glad birth, 
There are blossoms still for the trustful heart, 

Sweet hopes for what life may yet unfold, 
And memories precious that will not depart 

When fades from the hill-tops the autumn's gold. 

WINTER. 

I bring to the waiting fields the snow, 

December's mantle so soft and pure, 
That covers the sleeping seeds below, 

To remain, till the spring's return, secure. 
Ye think my touch unkind and rude 

When the bracing frost and cold I bring, 
Ye chant in a pining, reproachful mood 

The praises of summer and dewy spring; 
Yet oft at my touch the baleful seeds 

Of pestilence powerless fall in death ; 
New vigor to youth and prime proceeds 

From my clear, keen, purifying breath. 
Bnt richer delights to you I bring; 

For mine is the anniversary time, 
When " Good- will A o men!" the angels sing, 

" Good-will!" the echoing joy-bells chime. 



Concert Recitations. 



87 



Solo. 

Concert. 

Solo. 



Concert. 



The Coming of Spring. 

WlLHELM MtJLLER. 

Up with windows, up with hearts ! 

Swiftly, swiftly ! 
Graybeard Winter seeks to go, 
He wanders troubled to and fro, 
He beats his breast full fearfully 
And packs his duds right hastily, 

With speed, with speed. 



Solo. 

Concert. 

Solo. 



Concert. 



Up with windows, up with hearts ! 

Swiftly, swiftly ! 
The Springtime knocks and stamps without — 
And listen to his joyous shout ! — 
Before the door he takes his stand, 
With beauteous flower-buds in his hand, 

With speed, with speed. 



Solo. 

Concert. 

Solo. 



Concert. 



Open windows, open hearts ! 

Swiftly, swiftly ! 
The brave young South-wind stands below, 
With round red cheeks and eyes aglow, 
And blows that doors and windows rattle, 
Till Winter yields him in the battle — 

With speed, with speed. 



Concert. Open windows, open hearts ! 

With speed, with speed ! 
Wild birds sound the battle-song — 
And hark, and hark ! an echo long, 
An echo from my inmost heart — 
The joys of Spring bid Winter part 
With speed, with speed. 



88 Pieces for Every Occasion. 



The Good Time Coming. 

Charles Mack ay. 

Concert. There's a good time coming, boys, 
A good time coming. 
/Solo. We may not live to see the day, 
But earth shall glisten in the ray 

Of the good time coming. 
Cannon-balls may aid the truth, 

But thought's a weapon stronger; 
We'll win our battle by its aid — 
Wait a little longer. 

Concert. There's a good time coming, boys, 
A good time coming. 
Solo. The pen shall supersede the sword, 

And Right, not Might, shall be the lord 

In the good time coming. 
Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind, 

And be acknowledged stronger; 
The proper impulse has been given — 
Wait a little longer. 

Concert. There's a good time coining, boys, 
A good time coming. 
Solo. War in all men's eyes shall be 
A monster of iniquity 

In the good time coming; 
Nations shall not quarrel then, 

To prove which is the stronger; 
Nor slaughter men for glory's sake — 
Wait a little longer. 

Concert. There's a good time coming, boys, 
A good time coming. 
Solo. Hateful rivalries of creed 

Shall not make their martyrs bleed 



Concert Recitations, 



89 



In the good time coming. 
Religion shall be shorn of pride, 

And nourish all the stronger; 
And Charity shall trim her lamp — ■ 

Wait a little longer. 

Concert. There's a good time coming, boys, 
A good time coming. 
Solo. Little children shall not toil, 
Under or above the soil, 

In the good time coming; 
But shall play in healthful fields 

Till limb and mind grow stronger; 
And every one shall read and write — 
Wait a little longer. 



Concert. There's a good time coming, boys, 
A good time coming. 
Solo. The people shall be temperate, 
And shall love instead of hate 

In the good time coming. 
They shall use, and not abuse, 

And make all virtue stronger; 
The reformation has begun — 
Wait a little longer. 

Concert. There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming. 
Let us aid it all we can, 
Every woman, every man, 

The good time coming. 
Smallest helps, if rightly given, 

Make the impulse stronger; 
Twill be strong enough one day — 

Wait a little longer. 



90 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Charge at Waterloo. 

Sir Walter Scott. 

\Adaptedfor Concert Recitation. .] 

On came the whirlwind — like the last 
But fiercest sweep of tempest blast ; 
On came the whirlwind — steel-gleams broke 
Like lightning through the rolling smoke: 

The war was waked anew. 
Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud, 
And from their throats with flash and cloud 

Their showers of iron threw. 
In one dark torrent, broad and strong, 
The advancing onset rolled along. 
But on the British heart were lost 
The terrors of the charging host ; 
For not an eye the storm that viewed 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude; 
Nor was one forward footstep stayed 
As dropped the dying and the dead. 
Down were the eagle-banners sent, 
Down reeling steeds and riders went; 
Corselets were pierced and pennons rent, 

And, to augment the fray, 
Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, 
The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds; 
As plies the smith his clanging trade, 
Against the cuirass rang the blade; 
And while amid their scattered band 
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
Recoiled in common rout and fear 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier, 
Horsemen and foot — a mingled host — 
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. 



Concert Recitations. 91 

Stjmmer Storm. 

James Russell Lowell. 

[Abbreviated f&r Concert Recitation.] 

[The following selection is peculiarly effective for concert recitation on ac- 
count of the great number and variety of vocal changes. The italicized 
words should be given with abrupt, explosive sounds; the italicized final con- 
sonants with extreme distinctness of articulation ; the pauses indicated by 
dashes should be exaggerated, and the time most accurately marked.] 

Suddenly — all the sky is hid 
As with the shutting of a lid. 

One — by — one — great — drops— are falling, 

Doubtful — and — slow. 
Down the pane they are crookedly crawling, 

And the winr7 — breathes low, 

.Now — on the hills — I hear the thunder — mutter, 
The wine/ — is gathering in the wes£. 

The upturned leaves first whiten and flutter 
Then droop — to a fitful res£. 

Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh, 

And tramples the grass with terrified feet. 

The startled river turns leaden and harsh. 

You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat. 

Look, look! that livid flash I 

And instantly follows the rattling thunder 

As if some cloud-crag — split asunder — 

Fell — splintering with a ruinous crash . 

Against the windows, the storm comes dashing ; 

Through tattered foliage, the hail — tears crashing; 

The blue lightning— flashes, 

The rapid hail dashes, 

The white waves are tumbling, 

And in one baffled roar, 
The thunder — is rumbling — 

And crashing and crumbling. 



92 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Hush! Still as death 



(Whisper) 

The tempest — holds his breath- 

As from a sudden will. 

The rain — stops— short — but from the eaves 

You see it drop and hear ik— on the leaves, 

(Half-whisper) All — is — so — still. 

Gone — gone — so soon ! 
The pale and quiet moon 
Makes her calm forehead bare. 
No more my half-crazed fancy there. 
Can shape — a gian£ — in the air, 
And the last fragments of the storm, 
Like shattered rigging from a figh£ at sea, 
Silent and few — are drifting over me. 



Song of the Steamer Engine. 

O. B. LeRow. 

[This selection is adapted for Solo and Concert recitation. The first two 
and last two lines of each stanza, and the whole of the last stanza, are to be 
given in concert. The other lines can he assigned to one or to six students— 
the latter arrangement giving greater variety, as the stanzas differ widely in 
style. As the refrain, or chorus, is to imitate the peculiar beat or rhythm of 
the engine, the accent must fall upon the third syllable of each line, while 
each syllable is given with staccato effect, and the whole line on a monotone. 
The fifth stanza represents two equal beats on the two syllables— the rhythm 
of the engine when moving in half time on account of danger.] 

I. 

' ' We are ready for work — 

We are ready for work — " 
So says the great engine when we start 
And the steam comes up from its pulsing heart. 
With its hundred iron arms and hands 
It is waiting to take us to foreign lands, 
And it says in the cheeriest sort of way 
While our friends are watching us down the bay, 
' ' We are ready for work — 

We are ready for work — " 



Concert Recitations. 93 



" We will carry you over — 
We will carry you over — " 
It seems to say on the ocean wide 
When no land can be seen on either side; 
And we wonder how it can ever be 
That we can go straight o'er the trackless sea. 
And we watch the engine day by day, 
Encouraged by what it seems to say, 

" We will carry you over — 
We will carry you over — " 

in. 

" Our work is praying — 
Our work is praying — " 
It says on the sunny Sabbath day 
When the passengers meet to sing and pray; 
And through the sermon and chanted psalm 
We listen with hearts subdued and calm 
To the faithful strokes of the engine strong 
As over the ocean we sail along; 

' ' Our work is praying — 
Our work is praying — " 

IV. 

" Sleep safe till morning — • 

Sleep safe till morning — " 
Are the words we hear in the dead of night 
When only the sailors can see a light; 
And the great ship rushes along as free 
As if the sunshine were on the sea; 
And we rest secure near the beating heart 
Of the engine doing its noble part; 

" Sleep safe till morning — 
Sleep safe till morning — " 



94 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

v. 

" Don't fear — 
Don't fear — " 
It can say no more in the heavy fog 
Which seems its very breath to clog; 
While with hearts grown faint and lips that pray 
We think of the friends who are far away, 
And of hidden perils and sudden death 
Although the engine pants under breath, 

"Don't fear — 
Don't fear—" 



VI. 

4 ' It is all right now — 
It is all right now — 
Are the words we hear when the sun peeps through 
And the leaden clouds catch a tint of blue; 
And the iron arms work hard and fast, 
For we are in sight of the land at last. 
And the engine seems as glad as we 
That the ship is now from all danger free. 

" It is all right now — 
It is all right now — " 

VII. 

O brave engine, you little know 
What to your faithful heart we owe. 
You did your duty by day and night; 
As well in the darkness as the light; 
Never letting an hour go by, 
Never stooping to question Why — 
Showing what beauty and grace can be 
In honest Toil ana Fidelity. 



Concert Recitations. 95 

The Child on the Judgment-Seat. 

Mrs. E. Charles. 

[Recitation for Two Students] 
FIRST. 

TV here hast thou been toiling all day, sweetheart. 

That thy brow is burdened and sad ? 
The Master's work may make weary feet, 

But it leaves the spirit glad. 

SECOND. 

ISo pleasant garden-toils were mine; 

I have sat on the judgment-seat 
Where the Master sits above, and calls 

The children around His feet. 

FIRST. 

How earnest thou on the judgment-seat ? 

Sweetheart, who set thee there ? 
'Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee, 

And well might fill thee with care. 

SECOND. 

I climbed on the judgment-seat myself, 

I have sat there alone all day. 
For it grieved me to see the children around 

Idling their life away. 

FIRST. 

And what didst thou on the judgment-seat, 

Sweetheart, what didst thou there ? 
Would the idlers heed thy childish voice ? 

Did the garden mend for thy care ? 

SECOND. 

ISTay, that grieved me more; I called and I cried-. 

But they left me there forlorn: 
My voice was weak, and they heeded not, 

Or thev laughed niv words to scorn. 



96 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

FIRST. 

Ah, the judgment-seat was not for thee, 

The servants were not thine, 
And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame 

See farther than thine or mine. 

SECOND. 

Should I see the Master's treasures lost, 
The gifts that should feed his poor, 

And not lift my voice — be it weak as it may — 
And not be grieved sore ? 

FIRST. 

But how fared thy garden-plot, sweetheart, 
Whilst thou sat on the judgment-seat ? 

Who watered thy roses and trained thy vines, 
And kept them from careless feet ? 

SECOND. 

Nay, that is saddest of all to me, 

That is the saddest of all. 
My vines are trailing, my roses are parched. 

My lilies droop and fall. 

FIRST. 

Go back to thy garden-plot, sweetheart, 

Go back till the evening falls, 
And bind thy lilies and train thy vines 

Till for thee the Master calls. 
Go make thy garden fair as thou canst, 

Thou workest never alone; 
Perchance he whose plot is next to thine 

Will see it and mend his own. 
And the next shall copy his, sweetheart, 

Till all grows fair and sweet; 
And when the Master comes at eve 

Happy faces His coming shall greet. 
Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart, 

In thy garden so fair to see, 
In the Master's voice of praise for all, 

In a look of His own for thee. 



Concert Recitations. 97 

The Two Glasses. 

C. B. A. 

[Recitation for Two Students.] 
FIRST. 

There sat two glasses filled to the brim 

On a rich man's table, rim to rim; 

One was ruddy and red as blood, 

And one was as clear as the crystal flood. 

Said the glass of wine to the paler brother: 

SECOND. 

Let us tell the tales of the past to each other; 
I can tell of a banquet and revel and mirth, 
Where the proudest and grandest souls on earth 
Fell under my touch as though struck by blight; 
For I was a king, and I ruled in might ; 
From the heads of kings I have torn the crown, 
From the height of fame I have hurled men down 
I have blasted many an honored name; 
I have taken virtue and given shame; 
I have made the arm of the driver fail, 
And sent the train from the iron rail; 
I have made good ships go down at sea, 
And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me; 
For they said, ' Behold, how great you be ! 
Fame, strength, wealth, genius before you fall 7 
And your might and power are over all. ' 
Ho ! ho ! pale brother,'' laughed the wine, 
Can you boast of deeds as great as mine ?" 

FIRST. 

Said the water-glass : " I cannot boast 
Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host; 
But I can tell of a heart once sad, 
By my crystal drops made light and glad; 
7 



8 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Of thirsts I've quenched, and brows I've laved; 

Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved; 

I have slept in the sunshine and dropped from the sky, 

And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye; 

I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain, 

I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain; 

I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill, 

That ground out the flour and turned at my will; 

I can tell of manhood debased by you, 

That I have lifted and crowned anew. 

I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid; 

I gladden the heart of man and maid; 

I set the chained wine-captive free, 

And all are better for knowing me. " 

SECOND. 

These are the tales they told each other, 
The glass of wine and its paler brother, 
As they sat together, filled to the brim, 
On the rich man's table, rim to rim. 



The Sorrow of the Sea. 

Concert. I stood on the shore of the beautiful sea, 
And the billows were rolling wild and free; 
Onward they came with unfailing force, 
Then backward turned in their restless course. 
Ever and ever they rose and fell, 
With heaving and surging and mighty swell: 
Ever and ever sounded their roar, 
Foaming and dashing against the shore. 

Solo. Oh, when shall the ocean's troubled breast 
Calmly and quietly sink to rest ^ 1 
When shall the waves' wild murmurs cease 
And the mighty waters be hushed in peace? 



Concert Recitations. 



99 



Concert. It cannot be quiet; it cannot rest. 

There must be heaving on ocean's breast, 
The tide must ebb and the tide must flow 
While the changing seasons come and go. 
Oh, strangely glorious, beautiful sea, 
Sounding forever mysteriously, 
Why are thy billows still rolling on 
With that wild and sad and musical tone ? 
Why is there never repose for thee 
O mighty, murmuring, sounding sea ? 

Solo. Then the ocean's voice I seemed to hear, 
Mournfully, solemnly sounding near, 
Telling of loved ones buried there, 
Of the dying shriek and the dying prayer; 
Telling of hearts still watching in vain 
For those who shall never come back again; 
Oh, no ! the ocean can never rest 
With such secrets hidden within its breast. 
But a day shall come, a blessed day, 
When earthly sorrow shall pass away, 
When the hour of anguish shall turn to peace, 
And even the roar of the waves shall cease. 



Concert. But, oh ! thou glorious, beautiful sea, 

There is health, and joy, and delight in thee. 
Solemnly, sweetly, I hear thy voice 
Bidding me weep and yet rejoice: 
Weep for the loved ones buried beneath, 
Kejoice in Him who has conquered death; 
Weep for the sorrowing, tempest-tossed, 
Eejoice in Him who has saved the lost; 
Weep for the sin and sorrow of strife, 
Eejoice in the hope of eternal life ! 

LofC. 



100 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Death of our Almanac. 

Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. 

[Selection for Twelve Students.] 

January. Darkness and light reign alike. Snow is 
on the ground, cold is in the air. The winter is blos- 
soming in frost-flowers. Old sounds are silent in the 
forest and in the air. Insects are dead, birds are gone, 
leaves have perished. So hath God wiped out the past ; 
so hath he spread the earth, like an unwritten page, for 
a new year. 

February. As the month wears on its silent work 
begins, though storms rage. The earth is hidden yet, 
but not dead. The sun is drawing near. He whispers 
words of deliverance into the ears of every sleejDing 
seed and root that lies beneath the snow. The day 
opens, but the night shuts the earth with its frost-lock ; 
but day steadily gains upon the night. 

March. The conflict is more turbulent, but the vic- 
tory is gained. The world awakes. There come voices 
from long-hidden birds. The smell of the soil is in the 
air. The sullen ice, retreating from open field and all 
sunny places, has slunk to the north of every fence and 
rock. The knolls and banks that face the east or south 
sigh for release, and begin to lift up a thousand tiny 
palms. 

April. The singing month. Many voices of many 
birds call for resurrection over the graves of flowers, 
and they come forth. Go, see what they have lost. 
What have ice, and snow, and storm done unto them? 
How did they fall into the earth, stripped and bare? 
How did they come forth, opening and glorified? Is it, 



Concert Recitations. 101 

then, so fearful a thing to lie in the grave? In its wild 
career, shaking and scourged of storms through its or- 
bit, the earth has scattered away no treasures. The 
Hand that governs in April governed in January. You 
have not lost what God has only hidden. You lose 
nothing in struggle, in trial, in bitter distress. 

May. Flower-month! perfect the harvests of flow- 
ers. Be not niggardly. Search out the cold and re- 
sentful nooks that refused the sun, casting back its 
rays from disdainful ice, and plant flowers even there. 
There is goodness in the worst. There is warmth in 
the coldest. The silent, hopeful, unbreathing sun, 
that will not fret or despond, but carries a placid brow 
through the unwrinkled heavens, at length conquers the 
very rocks, and lichens grow and inconspicuously blos- 
som. What shall not Time do, that carries in its bosom 
Love ? 

June. Eest ! This is the year's bower. Sit down 
within it. The winds bring perfume, the forests sing 
to thee, the earth shows thee all her treasures. The 
air is all sweetness. The storms are but as flocks of 
mighty birds that spread their wings and sing in the 
high heaven. The earth cries to the heavens, " God is 
here I" The heavens cry to the earth, i( God is here V 3 
The land claims him, and his footsteps are upon the 
sea. sunny joys of sunny June, how soon will you 
be scorched by the eager months coming burning from 
the equator! 

July. Bouse up ! The temperate heats that filled the 
air are raging forward to glow and overfill the earth. 
There are deep and unreached places for whose sake the 
probing sun pierces down its glowing hands. The earth 
shall drink of the heat before she knows her nature or 



102 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

her strength. Then shall she bring forth to the utter- 
most the treasures of her bosom. For there are things 
hidden far down, and the deep things of life are not 
known till the fire reveals them. 

August. Reign, thou Fire-month ! Neither shalt 
thou destroy the earth which frosts and ice could not 
destroy. The vines droop, the trees stagger, but every 
night the dew pities them. This is the rejoicing month 
for joyful insects, the most populous and the happiest 
month. The air is resonant of insect orchestras, each 
one carrying his part in nature's grand harmony. Au- 
gust, thou art the rrpeness of the year, the glowing cen- 
ter of the great circle. 

September. There are thoughts in thy heart of death. 
Thou art doing a secret work, and heaping up treasures 
for another year. The unborn infant-buds which thou 
art tending are more than all the living leaves. Thy 
robes are luxuriant, but worn with softened pride. More 
dear, less beautiful than June, thou art the heart's 
month. Not till the heats of summer are gone, while 
all its growths remain, do we know the fullness of life. 
Thy hands are stretched out, and clasp the glowing palm 
of August, and the fruit-smelling hand of October. 
Thou dividest them asunder, and art thyself molded of 
them both. 

October. Orchard of the year ! Bend thy boughs to 
the earth, redolent of glowing fruit ! Ripened seeds 
shake in their pods. Apples drop in the stillest hours. 
Leaves begin to let go when no wind is out, and swing 
in long waverings to the earth, which they touch with- 
out sound, and lie looking up, till winds rake them and 
heap them in fence-corners. When the gales come 
through the trees, the yellow leaves trail, like sparks at 



Concert- Recitations. 103 

night behind the flying engine. The woods are thinner, 
so that we can see the heavens plainer, as we lie dream- 
ing on the yet warm moss by the singing spring. The 
days are calm. The nights are tranquil. The year's 
work is done. She walks in gorgeous apparel, looking 
upon her long labor, and her serene eye saith, "It is 
good." 

November. Patient watcher, thou art asking to lay 
down thy tasks. Life to thee, now, is only a task ac- 
complished. In the night-time thou liest down, and the 
messengers of winter deck thee with hoar-frosts for thy 
burial. The morning looks upon thy jewels, and they 
perish while it gazes. Wilt thou not come, December? 

December. Silently the month advances. There is 
nothing to destroy, but much to bury. Bury, then, thou 
snow, that slumberously fallest through the still air, the 
hedgerows of leaves ! Muffle thy cold wool about the 
feet of shivering trees ! Bury all that the year hath 
known, and let thy brilliant stars, that never shine as 
they do in thy frostiest nights, behold the work ! But 
know, month of destruction, that in thy constellation 
is set that Star whose rising is the sign, for evermore, 
that there is life in death ! Thou art the month of res- 
urrection. In thee the Christ came. Every star that 
looks down upon thy labor and toil of burial knows that 
all things shall come forth again. Storms shall sob them- 
selves to sleep. Silence shall find a voice. Death shall 
live, Life shall rejoice, Winter shall break forth and blos- 
som into Spring, Spring shall put on her glorious ap- 
parel and be called Summer. It is life ! it is life ! 
through the whole year ! 



104 Pieces for Every Occasion. 



Two Epitaphs. 

[The following can be read by a class in concert, or by two sections of a 
class. It is a fine exercise in transition from soft to loud Force, slow to quicif 
Time, low to high Pitch, minor to major Inflection.] 



" Think of Death !" the grave-stones say, — 
" Peace to Life's mad striving !" 

ii. 
But the church-yard daisies, — "Nay, 
Think of Living !" 

1 Think of Life !" the sunbeams say, 
O'er the dial flying; 

But the slanting shadows,—" Nay, 
Think of Dying !" 

" Think of Death I" the night birds say. 
On the storm -blast driving; 

ii. 

But the building swallows, — " Nay, 
Think of Living !" 

" Think of Life !" the broad winds say, 
Through the old trees sighing; 

i. 

But the whirling leaf -dance, — "Nay, 
Think of Dying !" 

" Think of Death I" the sad bells say, 
Fateful record giving; 
ii. 
Clash the merry Yule-peal, — "Nay, 
Think of Living !" 

Concert. Dying, Living, glad or loath, 
On God's Rood relying; 
Pray He fit us all for both- 
Living, Dying ! From the German. 



Concert Recitations. 105 

The Cataract of Lodore, 

Robert Southey. 

[For Solo and Concert Recitation.] 

[Variations in Force, Time, Pitch, Quality, Staccato and Legato effect, to 
be made according to the idea expressed by the different words.] 

Solo. 
" How does the water come down at Lodore ?" 
My little boy asked me 
Thus, once on a time, 
And moreover he tasked me 
To tell him in rhyme. 
Anon at the word 
There first came one daughter, 
And then came another 
To second and third 
The request of their brother, 
And to hear how the water came down at Lodore, 
So I told them in rhyme, for of rhymes I had store, 
And 'twas in my vocation 
For their recreation, 
That so I should sing; 
Because I was Laureate to them and the King. 

Solo. 
From its sources which well 
In the tarn on the fell; 

Through moss and through brake 
It runs and it creeps 
For a while till it sleeps 
In its own little lake; 
It runs through the reeds and away it proceeds 
Through meadow and glade, in sun and in shade, 
And through the wood-shelter, among crags in its flurry 
Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry ! 
The cataract strong then plunges along, 
Striking and raging as if a war waging 
Its caverns and rocks among. 



106 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Concert. 
Kising and leaping, 
Sinking and creeping, 
Flying and flinging, 
Writhing and ringing, 
Spouting and frisking, 
Turning and twisting, — 

Solo. 
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound. 

Concert. 

And shocking and rocking, 

And darting and parting, 

And rattling and battling, 

And shaking and quaking, 

And pouring and roaring, 

And waving and raving, 

And dropping and hopping, 

And working and jerking, 

And moaning and groaning. 
And falling and brawling and sprawling, 
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, 
And sounding and bounding and rounding, 
And bubbling and rumbling and tumbling, 
And clattering and battering and shattering. 
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, 
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, 
And curling and whirling and furling and twirling, 
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping, 
And dashing and flashing and splashing and crashing — 

Solo. 
And so never ending, but always descending, 
Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending 
All at once, and all o'er, with a mighty uproar, 
And this way the water comes down at Lodore. 



Concert Bec'dations. 107 

Cavaley Song. 

Edmund C. Stedman. 

[For Boys' Recitation.'] 
I. 

Oue good sieeds snuff the winter air. 

Our pulses with their purpose tingle: 
The foeman*^ fires are twinkling there; 

He leaps to hear our sabers jingle. 

HALT ! 

Each carbine send its whizzing ball; 
^ow cling ! clang ! forward, all, 
Into the fight ! 

ii. 
Dash on beneath the smoking dome; 

Through level lightnings gallop nearer ! 
One look to Heaven. Xo thoughts of home; 

The guidons that we bear are dearer. 

CHAKGE ! 

Cling ! clang ! forward, all ! 
Heaven help those whose horses fall ! 
Cut left and right ! 

in. 
They flee before our fierce attack ! 

They fall ! they spread in broken surges. 
Xow, comrades, bear our wounded back, 

And leave the foeman to his dirges. 

wheel ! 

The bugles sound the swift recall: 
Cling ! clang ! backward, all! 

Home, and good-night! 



108 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Who Is It? 

[Becitalion for a girl and boy}, 
GIRL. 

Someone has been in the garden, 

Nipping the flowers so fair; 
All the green leaves are withered: 

Now, who do you think has been there? 

BOY. 

Someone has been in the forest, 

Cracking the chestnut-burrs; 
"Who is it dropping the chestnuts, 

"Whenever a light wind stirs? 

GIRL. 

Someone has been at the windows, 

Marking on every pane; 
Who made those glittering pictures 

Of lacework and fir-trees and grain? 

BOY* 

Someone is all the time working 

Out on the pond so blue, 
Bridging it over with crystal: 

"Who is it ? Can you tell me who % 

CONCERT. 

"While his good bridge he is building, 
"We will keep guard at the gate; 

And when he has it all finished, 
Hurrah for the girls and boys that can skate? 

Let him work on: we are ready; 

Not much for our fun does it cost! 
Three cheers for the bridge he is making! 

And three, with a will, for Jack Frost ! 



RECITATIONS FOE MUSIC. 



The Angeltjs. 

Frances L. Mace. 

[For pianissimo musical accompaniment.} 

Ring soft across the dying day, 

Angelus ! 
Across the amber-tinted bay, 
The meadow flushed with sunset ray, — 
Ring out, and float, and melt away, 

Angelus. 

The day of toil seems long ago, 

Angelus; 
While through the deepening vesper glow, 
Far up where holy lilies blow, 
Thy beckoning bell-notes rise and flow, 

Angelus. 

Through dazzling curtains of the west, 

Angelus ! 
We see a shrine in roses dressed, 
And lifted high in vision blest, 
Our very heart-throb is confessed, 

Angelus. 

Oh, has an angel touched the bell, 

Angelus ? 
For now upon its parting swell 
All sorrow seems to sing farewell, 
There falls a peace no words can tell, 

Angelus ! 



110 Pieces for Every Occasion. 



a 



Hope's Song. 

Helen M. Winslow. 

The golden dreams of youth 
Assume a guise of truth 

Which age keeps never, 
For Hope's voice singeth ever, 
Oh, youth and strong endeavor, 
Can win the highest good forever." 

Love's subtle intuition 
Divines life's glad fruition, 

Distrusting never; 
And sweetly Hope sings ever, 
True love and sweet endeavor 
Shall hold the highest good forever." 

Love's sacred tryst is broken, 
Heart-breaking words are spoken 

Her bonds to sever; 
But still Hope singeth ever, 
Brave heart and strong endeavor 
Must find the highest good forever." 

Pale hands are crossed in death; 
Gone is the quivering breath; 
And still a low voice never 
Stops echoing, echoing ever, 
Brave heart and strong endeavor 
Have won the highest good forever." 



Recitations for Music. Ill 

The Sunrise Never Failed us Yet. 

Mrs. Celia Thaxter. 

Upon the sadness of the sea 
The sunset broods regretfully; 
From the far, lonely spaces, slow 
Withdraws the wistful after-glow. 

So out of life the splendor dies; 
So darken all the happy skies; 
So gathers twilight, cold and stern — 
But overhead the planets burn. 

And up the east another day 
Shall chase the bitter dark away; 
What though our eyes with tears be wet ? 
The sunrise never failed us yet ! 

The blush of dawn may yet restore 
Our light, and hope, and joy, once more. 
Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget 
That sunrise never failed us yet ! 



A Winter Song. 

[With light, running staccato and legato accompaniments.] 

Oh, summer has the roses 
And the laughing, light south wind, 
And the merry meadows lined 

With dewy, dancing posies; 
But winter has the sprites 
And the witching frosty nights. 

Oh, summer has the splendor 
Of the corn-fields wide and deep, 
Where the scarlet poppies sleep 

And wary shadows wander; 
But winter fields are rare 
With diamonds everywhere. 



112 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Oh, summer has the wild bees, 
And the ringing, singing note 
In the robin's tuneful throat, 

And the leaf -talk in the trees; 
But winter has the chime 
Of the merry Christmas time. 

Oh, summer has the luster 
Of the sunbeams warm and bright, 
And rains that fall at night 

Where reeds and lilies cluster; 
But deep in winter's snow 



The fires of Christmas glow. 



St. Nicholas. 



The Concert Rehearsal. 

WOLSTAN DlXEY. 

Oh, it was a musical old Beetle ! 

And oh, it was a honey-throated Bee ! 
But the dandified young Hopper, 
He couldn't sing it proper. 

And the Cricket — out of tune was he. 

They sung and they sung, 
And the harebells swung 

A tinkling obligate* in the breeze; 
While the Beetle, singing-master, 
Tried to make them sing it faster, 

By patting off the tempo on his knees." 

And oh ! it was a Robin overheard them, 
Who happened out a-walking in the glade. 

And he laughed in every feather 

When they tried to sing together 
At the funny little noises that they made. 



Recitations for Music. 113 

He listened and he listened, 
And his eyes they fairly glistened 

As the Bee so sweetly bumbled out the air; 
But the Cricket struck another, 
And the Eobin thought he'd smother 

Trying not to let them know that he was there. 

Then oh, the Bee declared that " It was shameful !" 

And angrily sipped honey from a comb; 
" She was ruining her throat 
And wouldn't sing another note 

Until the others studied it at home !" 

The Cricket said that he 
Never could keep in the key 

When the wind was blowing that way from the south, 
And young Hopper made excuses 
In reply to these abuses, 

That he had too much molasses in his mouth. 

Then oh ! the beetle-headed old conductor 

Arose and made a few remarks in turn; 
" The soprano is so vicious [ 

And affairs so unpropitious, 

The best thing we can do is to adjourn. 

" Taking everything together, 
The molasses and the weather, 

And the fact that we can't any of us sing, 
There is quite sufficient reason 
That we wait another season 

And postpone our little concert till the spring !" 



114 Pieces for Every Occasion. 



Eock of Ages. 

[The quoted words can be either sung or recited. The melody should be 
played through once before the beginning of the recitation. The accompani- 
ment, pianissimo, should run through the entire poem, being definite, and 
piano only on the quoted lines.] 

" Bock of ages, cleft for me," 

Thoughtlessly the maiden sung, 
Fell the words unconsciously 

From her girlish, gleeful tongue ; 
Sang as little children sing ; 

Sang as sing the birds in June ; 
Fell the words like light leaves down 

On the current of the tune — 
" Eock of ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee. " 

" Let me hide myself in Thee," — 

Felt her soul no need to hide ; 
Sweet the song as song could be, 

And she had no thought beside. 
All the words unheedingly 

Fell from lips untouched by care, 
Dreaming not that they might be 

On some other lips a prayer — 
" Eock of ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee." 

" Eock of ages, cleft for me," 

'Twas a woman sung them now, 
Pleadingly and prayerfully ; 

Every word her heart did know. 
Eose the song, as a storm-tossed bird 

Beats with weary wings the air ; 
Every note with sorrow stirred — 
Every syllable a prayer — 
"Eock of ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee." 



Recitations for Music. 115 

" Rock of ages, cleft for me," 

Lips grown aged sung the hymn 
Trustingly and tenderly — 

Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim. 
" Let me hide myself in Thee," 

Trembling though the voice and low, 
Rose the sweet strain peacefully 

Like a river in its flow. 
Sang as only they can sing 

Who life's thorny paths have passed; 
Sang as only they can sing 
Who behold the promised rest — 
" Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee." 

" Rock of ages, cleft for me," 

Sung above a coffin-lid; 
Underneath all restfully 

All life's joys and sorrows hid. 
Nevermore, O storm-tossed soul, 

Nevermore, from wind or tide, 
Nevermore from billows' roll 

Wilt thou need thyself to hide. 
Could the sightless, sunken eyes, 

Closed beneath the soft gray hair, 
Could the mute and stiffened lips 

Move again in pleading prayer — 
Still, aye still, the words would be, 
" Let me hide myself in Thee." 



116 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Extract from Hiawatha's Wedding-feast. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

[To be recited with musical accompaniment.] 

First he danced a solemn measure, 
Very slow in step and gesture, 
In and out among the pine-trees, 
Through the shadows and the sunshine, 
Treading softly like a panther. 
Then more swiftly and still swifter, 
Whirling, spinning round in circles, 
Leaping o'er the guests assembled, 
Eddying round and round the wigwam, 
Till the leaves went whirling with him, 
Till the dust and wind together 
Swept in eddies round about him. 

Then they said to Chibiabos, 

To the friend of Hiawatha, 

To the sweetest of all singers, 

To the best of all musicians, 

" Sing to us, O Chibiabos ! 

Songs of love and songs of longing, 

That the feast may be more joyous, 

That the time may pass more gayly, 

And our guests be more contented ! " 

And the gentle Chibiabos 

Sang in accents sweet and tender, 

Sang in tones of deep emotion, 

Songs of love and songs of longing ; 

Looking still at Hiawatha, 

Looking at fair Laughing Water. 



Poets' Birthdays. 

The Blessing op the Poets.— I think it a very great boon which Heaven 
bestows on any nation when it sends a real poet among the people, like 
Longfellow or Whittier. I can't understand why we take the gift so coldly. 
In some of the poems of Whittier you can almost hear the rustling of the leaves 
of the old family Bible, and in Longfellow's lines you can listen to the rain on 
your roof, as you heard it while lying in your chamber in your childhood. It 
really seems to me that the whole poetic atmosphere of our time has been 
filled with a new fragrance by Whittier and Longfellow. They have taught 
us to prize afresh the loftiest virtues and the lowliest charities. Well may 
they indeed be called " Our Poets of the Household." You may call them 
primary or secondary, if you choose; but their motive-power remains un- 
quenchable and unchallengeable, and their words are graven in the hearts all 
over the human world.— James T. Fields. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

Born Nov. 3, 1794. Died June 12, 1878. 



William Culleh Bryant. 
Fitz-Greene Halleck. 

Bryant, whose songs are thoughts that bless 
The heart, — its teachers and its joy, — 

As mothers blend with their caress 

Lessons of truth and gentleness 
And virtue for the listening boy. 

Spring's lovelier flowers for many a day 

Have blossomed on his wandering way; 

Beings of beauty and decay, 

They slumber in their autumn tomb; 

But those that graced his own Green Eiver 
And wreathed the lattice of his home, 
Charmed by his song from mortal doom, 

Bloom on, and will bloom on forever. 

Bryant had a wonderful memory. His familiarity 
with the English poets was such that when at sea, where 
he was always too ill to read much, he would beguile the 



118 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

time by recit ng page after page from favorite poems. 
He assured me that however long the voyage, he had 
never exhausted his resources. He was scarcely less fa- 
miliar with the languages and literatures of Germany, 
France and Spain, Greece and Eome. He spoke all liv- 
ing languages except the Greek with facility and cor- 
rectness. — John Bigelow. 



The name of Bryant cannot be mentioned by any 
friend to American letters without respect as well as ad- 
miration. The hold that he has on the prof oundest feel- 
ings of his countrymen is to be referred to the genuine- 
ness, delicacy, depth, and purity of his sentiment. He 
is so genuine that he testifies to nothing in scenery or 
human life of which he has not had a direct personal 
consciousness. He follows the primitive bias of his na- 
ture rather than the caprices of fancy. His compositions 
always leave the impression of having been born, not 
manufactured or made. — Edwin" P. Whipple. 



It is the glory of this man that his character outshone 
even his great talent and his large fame. Distinguished 
equally fcr his native gifts and his consummate culture, 
his poetic inspiration and his exquisite art, he is honored 
and loved to-day even more for his stainless purity of 
life, his unswerving rectitude of will, his devotion to the 
higher interests of his race, his unfeigned patriotism, and 
liis broad humanity, — Rev. Henry W. Bellows. 



When Cooper died, the restless city paused to hear 
Bryant's words of praise and friendship. When Irving 



Poets 9 Birthdays. 119 

followed Cooper, all hearts turned to Bryant. Now Bry- 
ant has followed Cooper and Irving, the last of that early 
triumvirate of American literature. The broad and sim- 
ple outline of his character and career had become uni- 
versally familiar like a mountain or the sea. A patriarch 
of our literature, the oldest of our poets, he felt the 
magic of human sympathy, the impulse of his country, 
the political genius of his race, and was a public political 
leader. — George William Curtis. 



A Bryant Alphabet. 

Alike, beneath thine eye, 
The deeds of darkness and of light are done; 

High towards the star-lit sky 
Towns blaze, the smoke of battle blots the sun. 

Hymn to the North Star. 

Beneath the forest's skirt I rest, 

"Whose branching pines rise dark and high, 
And hear the breezes of the West 

Among the thread-like foliage sigh. 

The West Wind. 

Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence 
Came the deep murmur of its throng of men; 

And as its grateful odors met thy sense, 

They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. 

To a Mosquito. 

Darker — still darker ! the whirlwinds bear 
The dust of the plains to the middle air; 
And hark to the crashing, long and loud, 
Of the chariot of God, in the thunder-cloud ! 

The Hurricane, 



120 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Enough of drought has parched the year, and scared 
The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet, 
Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits. 

The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus. 

Far back in the ages, 
The plow with wreaths was crowned; 

The hands of kings and sages 
Entwined the chaplet round. 

Ode for an Agricultural Celebration. 

Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, 
To weave the dance that measures the years; 
Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent 
To the furthest wall of the firmament. 

Song of the Stars. 

Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock 
Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock; 
While those who seek to slay thy children, hold 
Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold. 

Hymn of the Waldenses. 

I know where the timid fawn abides 

In the depths of the shaded dell, 
"Where the leaves are broad, and the thicket hides 

From the eye of the hunter well. 

An Indian Story. 

Journeying, in long serenity, away 

In such a bright, late quiet, would that I 

Might wear out life like thee ! October. 

Knit they the gentle ties which long 
These Sister States were proud to wear, 

And forged the kindly links so strong 
For idle hands in sport to tear 1 Not Yet. 



Poets' Birthdays. 121 

Lament who will, in fruitless tears, 
The speed with which our moments fly; 

I sigh not over vanished years, 
But watch the years that hasten by. 

The Lapse of Time. 

Might but a little part, 
A wandering breath, of that high melody 

Descend into my heart, 

And change it till it be 
Transformed and swallowed up, love, in thee ! 

The Life of the Blessed. 

Not from the sands or cloven rocks, 

Thou rapid Arve ! thy waters flow; 
Nor earth, within her bosom, locks 

Thy dark unfathomed wells below. 

To the River Arve. 

Oh, deem not they are blest alone 

Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep; 
The Power who pities man has shown 

A blessing for the eyes that weep. 

" Blessed are they that Mourn." 

Peace to the just man's memory; let it grow 
Greener with years, and blossom through the flight 
Of ages. The Ages. 

the great deep 

Quivered and shook, as shakes the glimmering air 
Above a furnace. Sella. 

Kaise, then, the hymn to Death. Deliverer ! 
God hath anointed thee to free the oppressed 
And crush the oppressor. Hymn to Death. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
Or where the the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side ? 

To a Waterfall. 



122 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Thou unrelenting Past ! 
Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain 

And fetters, sure and fast, 
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 

Tfie Past. 

Upon the mountain's distant head 
With trackless snows forever white, 

Where all is still, and cold, and dead, 
Late shines the day's departing light. 

' ' Upon the Mountain's Distant Head. " 

Violets spring in the soft May shower; 
There, in the summer breezes, wave 
Crimson phlox and moccasin flower. 

Tlie Maiden's Sorrow. 

Welcome to grasp of friendly hands; to prayers 
Offered where crowds in reverent worship come 

Or softly breathed amid the tender care* 
And loving inmates of thy quiet home. 

The Life that Is. 

Alexis calls me cruel; 

The rifted crags that hold 
The gathered ice of winter, 

He says, are not more cold. 

Sony from the Spanish. 

Yet these sweet sounds of the early season 
And these fair sights of its sunny days, 

Are only sweet when we fondly listen, 
And only fair when we fondly gaze. 

An Invitation to the Country. 

Leave Zelinda altogether, 

Whom thou leavest oft and long, 

And in the life thou lovest 
Forget whom thou dost wrong. 

The Alcayde of Molina. 



Poets' Birthdays. 12 

The Third of November. 

On ray cornice linger the ripe, black grapes ungathered; 

Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee, 
Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them 

Drop the heavy fruit of the tall black walnut tree. 

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, 
Yet our full-leaved willows are in their freshest green, 

Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing 

With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen. 

Like this kindly season may life's decline come o'er me; 

Past is manhood's summer, the frosty months are here; 
Yet be genial airs, and a pleasant sunshine left me, 

Leaf, and fruit, and blossom, to mark the closing year. 



The Night Journey of a River. 

darkling River ! Through the night I hear 
Thy wavelets rippling on the pebbly beach; 

1 hear thy current stir the rustling sedge 
That skirts thy bed; thou intermittest not 
Thine everlasting journey, drawing on 

A silvery train from many a woodland spring 
And mountain brook. The dweller by thy side, 
"Who moored his little boat upon thy beach, 
Though all the waters that upbore it then 
Have slid away o'er night, shall find, at noon 
Thy channels filled with waters freshly drawn 
From distant cliffs and hollows, where the rill 
Comes up amid the water-flags. All night 
Thou givest moisture to the thirsty roots 
Of the lithe willow and overhanging plane, 
And cherishest the herbage of thy bank. 
Spotted with little flowers, and sendeth up 
Perpetually the vapors from thy face, 
To steep the hills with dew, or darken heaven 
With drifting clouds, that trail the shadowy shower. 



124 Pieces for Every Occasion. 



The Hurricane. 

Lord of the winds ! I feel thee nigh, 

I know thy breath in the burning sky ! 

And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, 

For the coming of the hurricane ! 

And lo ! on the wing of the heavy gales, 

Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails. 

Silent and slow, and terribly strong, 

The mighty shadow is borne along, 

Like the dark eternity to come ; 

While the world below, dismayed and dumb, 

Through the calm of the thick, hot atmosphere 

Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. 

* * * * 

He is come ! he is come ! Do ye not behold 
His ample robes on the wind unrolled ? 
Giant of air ! we bid thee hail ! — 
How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale ! 
How his huge and writhing arms are bent 
To clasp the zone of the firmament, 
And fold, at length, in their dark embrace, 
From mountain to mountain the visible space ! 

Darker — still darker ! the whirlwinds bear 
The dust of the plains to the middle air; 
And hark to the crashing, loug and loud, 
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud ! 
You may trace its path by the flashes that start 
From the rapid wheels where'er they dart, 
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, 



Poets' Birthdays. 125 



Green Eiveb. 

Yet pure its waters — its shallows are bright 

"With colored pebbles and sparkles of light, 

And clear the depth where its eddies play, 

And dimples deepen and whirl away, 

And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot 

The swifter current that mines its root, 

Through whose shifting waves as you walk the hill, 

The quivering glimmer of sun and rill 

With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown, 

Like the ray that streams from the diamond stone ! 

Oh, loveliest there the spring days come, 

With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees 1 hum; 

The flowers of summer are fairest there, 

And freshest the breath of the summer air; 

And sweetest the golden autumn day 

In silence and sunshine glides away. 



The Violet. 

When birchen buds begin to swell, 
And woods the bluebirds' warble know, 

The little violet's modest bell 
Peeps from the last year's leaves below. 

Oft in the sunless April day 

Thy early smile has stayed my walk; 
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May 

I passed thee on thy humble stalk. 

So they who climb to wealth forget 
The friends in darker fortunes tried; 

I copied them, but I regret 

That I should ape the ways of pride. 



126 Pieces for Every Occasi 



on. 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

Born May 25, 1803. Died April 27, 1882. 



Emerson, 
Mrs. E. C. Kinney. 

Dear Nature's child, he nestled close to her ! 
She to his heart had whispered deeper things 
Than science from the wells of learning brings. 

His still small voice the human soul could stir. 

For Nature made him her interpreter. 

And gave her favorite son far-reaching wings; 
He soared and sang as Heaven's lark only sings, 

Devout in praise, Truth's truest worshiper. 

With eyes anointed, in his upward flight 
He quick discerned what was divine in men, 
Eeading the humblest spirit's tongue aright. 

O Prophet, Poet, Leader ! in thy light 
How many saw beyond their natural ken, 
Who fellow now the star that led thee then ! 



Emerson's writings call for thought in the reader. 
They demand that one should stop and ask questions, 
should translate what one has read into one's own ordi- 
nary speech, and inquire again if it is true. No one 
should read Emerson who is not willing to have his own 
weakness disclosed to him, and who is not prepared also 
to test what he finds by a standard which is above both 
writer and reader. — Horace E, Scudder. 



Poets' Birthdays. 127 

There are living organisms so transparent that we 
can see their hearts beating and their blood flowing 
through their glassy tissues. So transparent was the 
life of Emerson ; so clearly did the true nature of the 
man show through it. What he taught others to be he 
was himself. His deep and sweet humanity won him 
love and reverence everywhere among those whose 
natures were capable of responding to the highest mani- 
festations of character. — Olivee Wendell Holmes. 



Though Emerson had reached a great age,, wo were 
not ready to part with him. He was an important 
friend, companion, kinsman, fellow-citizen, to the last; 
a wayfarer everybody was glad to meet; one whose 
enemy none could continue to be; a charmer whose spell 
was not to be escaped. With his imagination for an 
eye, Emerson was a perceiver, and he respected percep- 
tion in himself and others, being as quick and glad to 
quote their perceptions as to announce his own. He 
notes, cites, and lauds every scrap of insight, or ripple of 
tidings over the ocean that heaves from the unknown 
shore towards which he sails. — Key. C. A. Baktol. 



Emerson's faith in America is justified whether we 
trust in the capacities of the individual soul, or whether 
our expectation grows from the promises of a new civili- 
zation. America brings together the races of the world 
as no nation or time ever did before, and Emerson's 
hope for America may yet be justified by a literature in 
harmony with the new time. — George Willis Cooke. 



128 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Long, long had we heard in India of his name and 
reputation. We wondered what manner of man he was. 
When at last I landed on your continent, how glad £ 
should have been to sit at his feet and unfold before 
him the tale of our woe and degradation ! But he had 
gone to his rest, and instead of touching his warm hand 
which had blessed so many pilgrims, I could but kiss 
the cold dust of his nameless grave at the Concord cem- 
etery. — Protap Chunder Mozoomdar. 



An Emeeson Alphabet. 

All right activity is amiable. I never feel that any 
man occupies my place, but that the reason why I do not 
have what I wish is, that I want the faculty which en- 
titles. All spiritual or real power makes its own place. 

Aristocracy, 

By right or wrong, 
Lands and goods go to the strong, 
Property will brutely draw 
Still to the proprietor; 
Silver to silver creep and wind, 

And kind to kind. 

The Celestial Love. 

Come see the northwind's masonry: 
Out of an unseen quarry evermore 
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
Curves his white bastions with projected roof. 

The Snow-storm. 

Do not spare to put novels into the hands of young 
people as an occasional holiday and experiment ; but, 
above all, good poetry in all kinds, epic, tragedy, lyric. 

Education, 



Poets' Birthdays. 129 

Europe lias always owed to Oriental genius its divine 
impulses. What those holy bards said, all sane men 
found agreeable and true. — Address to Divinity Stu- 
dents. 



For Nature ever faithful is 

To such as trust her faithfulness. 



Gentle pilgrim, if thou know 
The gamut old of Pan, 
And how the hills began, 
The frank blessings of the hill 
Fall on thee, as fall they will. 



Woodnotes. 



Monadnoc. 



He is great who confers the most benefits. He is 
base — and that is the one base thing in the universe — 
to receive favors and render none. — Compensation. 

Insect lover of the sun, 
Joy of thy dominion; 
Sailor of the atmosphere, 
Swimmer through the waves of air. 

The Hiunble-bee. 

Jesus astonishes and overpowers sensual people. They 
cannot unite Him to history, or reconcile Him with 
themselves. — History. 

Knowest thou that wove yon wood-bird's nest 
Of leaves, and feathers from her breast ? 
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, 
Painting with morn each annual shell ? 

The Problem. 



130 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Let a man control the habit of expense. Let him see 
that as much wisdom may be expended on a private 
economy as on an empire, and as much wisdom be drawn 
from it. — Prudence. 

Man was made of solid earth, 

Child and brother from his birth; 

Tethered by a liquid cord 

Of blood through veins of kindred poured. 

The Celestial Lorn. 

No man can learn what he has not preparation for 
learning, however near to his eyes is the object. A 
chemist may tell his most precious secrets to a carpenter, 
and he shall never be the wiser. — Spiritual Laivs. 

One harvest from thy field 

Homeward brought the oxen strong; 

A second crop thine acres yield 

Which I gather in a song. The Apology. 

People say sometimes, " See what I have overcome ; 
see how cheerful I am ; see how completely I have tri- 
umphed over these black events." Not if they still re- 
mind me of the black event. — Circles. 

Queen of things ! I dare not die 
In Being's deeps past ear and eye; 
Lest there I find the same deceiver 
And be the sport of Fate forever. 

Ode to Beauty. 

River and rose and crag and bird, 
Frost and sun and eldest night, 

To me their aid preferred, 
To me their comfort plight. Hermione. 



Poets' Birthdays. 131 

Spartans, stoics, heroes, saints, and gods use a short 
and positive speech. They are never off their centers. 
As soon as they swell and paint and find truth not enough 
for them, softening of the brain has already begun. — The 
Superlative. 

Teach me your mood, patient stars ! 

Who climb each night the ancient sky, 
Leaving on space no shade, no scars, 

No trace of age, no fear to die. The Poet. 

Upborne and surrounded as we are by this all-creating 
nature, soft and fluid as a cloud or the air, why should 
we be such hard pedants and magnify a few forms ? 

History. 

Virtue runs before the Muse, 

And defies her skill; 
She is rapt, and doth refuse 

To wait a painter's will. Loss and Gain. 

Wise, cultivated, genial conversation is the last flower 
of civilization, and the best result which life has to offer 
us, — a cup for gods, which has no repentance. Conver- 
sation is our account of ourselves. — Woman. 



Extract from " Compensation. 

The history of persecution is a history of endeavors to 
cheat nature, to make water run up-hill, to twist a rope 
of sand. It makes no difference whether the actors be 
many or one, a tyrant or a mob. The martyr cannot be 
dishonored. Every lash inflicted is a tongue of flame ; 
every prison, a more illustrious abode ; every burned 



132 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

book or house enlightens the Avorld ; every suppressed 
or expunged word reverberates through the earth from 
side to side. Hours of sanity and consideration are al- 
ways arriving to communities as to individuals, when 
the truth is seen, and the martyrs are justified. 



The Concord Fight. 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled. 

Here once the embattled farmers stood 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

The foe has long in silence slept: 
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; 

And time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 

On this green bank, by this soft stream, 

We set to-day a votive stone, 
That memory may their deed redeem, 

When like our sires our sons are gone. 



Extract from "Works and Days." 

'Tis a fine fable for the advantage of character over 
talent, the Greek legend of the strife of Jove and Phoe- 
bus. Phoebus challenged the gods and said, " "Who will 
outshoot the far-darting Apollo ?" Zeus said, " I will." 
Mars shook the lots in his helmet, and that of Apollo 
leaped out first. Apollo stretched his bow and shot his 
arrow into the extreme west. Then Zeus arose, and with 
one stride cleared the whole distance, and said, " "Where 
shall I shoot ? There is no space left." So the bow- 
man's prize was adjudged to him who drew no bow. 



Poets 1 Birthdays. 133 



Art. 

Give to barrows, trays, and pans 
Grace and glimmer of romance; 
Bring the moonlight into noon 
Hid in gleaming piles of stone; 
On the city's paved street 
Plant gardens lined with lilac sweet, 
Let spouting fountains cool the air, 
Singing in the sun-baked square; 
Let statue, picture, park, and hall, 
Ballad, flag, and festival, 
The past restore, the day adorn, 
And make each morrow a new morn. 
'Tis the privilege of Art 
Thus to play its cheerful part. 



The Rhodora. 

Ehodora ! if the sages ask thee why 

This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 

Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing 

Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why thou wert there, rival of the rose ! 

I never thought to ask ; I never knew, 

But in my simple ignorance suppose 

The self-same Power that brought me here, brought you. 



134 Pieces for Every Occasion. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

Born Aug. 29, 1809. 



Dec. 3, 1879. 



Our Autocrat. 

John G. Whittier. 

His laurels fresh from song and lay, 
Komance and art, so young withal 

At heart, we scarcely dare to say 
We keep his seventieth festival. 

His still the keen analysis 

Of men and moods, electric wit, 

Free play of mirth, and tenderness 
To heal the slightest wound from it. 

And his the pathos touching all 
Life's sins and sorrows and regrets, ' 

Its hopes and fears, its final call 
And rest beneath the violets. 

His sparkling surface scarce betrays 
The thoughtful tide beneath it rolled. 

The wisdom of the latter days 
And tender memories of the old. 

Though now unnumbered guests surround 
The table that he rules at will, 

Its autocrat, however crowned, 

Is but our friend and comrade still. 

Long may he live to sing for us 

The songs that stay the flight of time, 

And like his Chambered Nautilus, 
To holier heights of beauty climb. 



Poets' Birthdays. 135 

I thixk that none of us can understand the meaning 
and scope of Dr. Holmes's writings unless we have ob- 
served that the main work of his life has been to study 
and teach an exact science,, the noble science of anatomy. 
And let us honor him to-day, not forgetting, as they can 
never be forgotten, his poems, his essays, as a noble rep- 
resentative of the profession of the scientific student and 
teacher. — Charles W. Eliot. 



"What one does easily is apt to be his forte, though 
years may pass before he finds this out. Holmes's early 
pieces, mostly college-verse, were better of their kind 
than those of a better kind written in youth by some of 
his contemporaries. The humbler the type, the sooner 
the development. The young poet had the aid of a 
suitable habitat ; life at Harvard was the precise thing 
to bring out his talent. There was nothing of the her- 
mit-thrush in him ; his temper was not of the withdraw- 
ing and reflective kind, nor moodily introspective, — it 
throve on fellowship, and he looked to his mates for an 
audience as readily as they to him for a toast-master. — 
Fraxces H. Uxderwood. 



Oxe finds nowhere in Holmes's volumes crude and 
unformed thoughts. He writes as clearly as he thinks. 
His sentences come from his pen clean-cut. The lan- 
guage of his prose is pure classical English. His style 
is simple, direct, forcible ; affluent, in the sense that it 
apparently never fails to come spontaneously at need, 
and in the fittest form; but not exuberant to the ob- 
scuring of the thought. Whether he be discussing a 
medical thesis or reading a lyric to classmates and liter- 
ary friends at an anniversary dinner, or sketching char- 



136 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

acter in the romance, or playing the autocrat at the 
breakfast-table, it is sure to be found acting effectively 
on those who hear or read them. — Rev. Ray Palmer. 



It is as a writer of humorous poetry that Holmes 
excels. His non-humorous poems are full of beautiful 
passages, as we shall see, but they have not the same 
unique flavor of originality. In one of the great Lon- 
don papers it was editorially stated, not long since, that 
no contemporary American writer had so amused and in- 
structed the insular mind as Holmes had done. The 
one most charming feature of his printed and spoken 
conversation is that he establishes a relation of sympathy 
between himself and his listeners, by expressing for 
them those common, every-day thoughts that we all 
think but rarely say. — Wm. Sloane Kennedy. 



The grace and gayety, the pathos and melody, the 
wit, the earnestness and shrewd sense of his writings, 
have given Holmes a place, and a sunny place, in the 
popular heart. On his happy birthday it was not Bos- 
ton that sat at table, but the whole country. It was not 
a town meeting, but a national congress. The Autocrat 
is not a mayor, but an emperor, and the toast of the 
day was the toast of appreciative hearts and generous 
souls far beyond the sound of the Atlantic. "The 
Autocrat of the Breakfast-table ; king, live forever V 3 
— Geo. Wm. Curtis. 



Poets' Birthdays. 137 



A Holmes Alphabet. 

Along its front no sabers shine, 

No blood-red pennons wave; 
Its banner bears the single line, 
" Our duty is to save." TJie Two Armies. 

Bring bellows for the panting winds, 
Hang up a lantern by the moon; 

And give the nightingale a fife, 
And lend the eagle a balloon. 

The Meeting of the Dryads. 

Child of the plowshare, smile; 

Boy of the counter, grieve not, 
Though muses round thy trundle-bed 

Their broidered tissue weave not. 

The Poet's Lot. 

Dear friends, who are listening so sweetly the while 
With your lips double-reefed in a snug little smile, 
I leave you two fables, both drawn from the deep, — 
The shells you can drop, but the pearls you may keep. 

Verses for After-dinner. 

Each moment fainter wave the fields 

And wider rolls the sea; 
The mist grows dark, — the sun goes down, — 

Day breaks, — and where are we ? 

Departed Days. 

Flowers will bloom over and over again in poems as 
in the summer fields, to the end of time, always old 
and always new. Why should we be more shy of re- 
peating ourselves than the spring be tired of blossoms 
or the night of stars ? — The Autocrat of the Breakfast- 
talle t 



13S Pieces for Every Occasion. 

God of all nations ! Sovereign Lord ! 
In Thy dread name we draw the sword, 
We lift the starry flag on high 
That fills with light our stormy sky. 

Army Hymn. 

How patient Nature smiles at Fame ! 

The weeds that strewed the victor's way, 
Feed on his dust to shroud his name, 

Green where his proudest towers decay. 

A Roman Aqueduct. 

It is likely that the language will shape itself by- 
larger forces than phonography and dictionary-making. 
You may spade up the ocean as much as you like, and 
harrow it afterward if you can, but the moon will still 
lead the tides, and the winds will form their surface. — 
The Professor at the Breakfast-table, 

Joy smiles in the fountain, 

Health flows in the rills, 
As their ribbons of silver 

Unwind from the hills. 

Song for a Temperance Dinner. 

Know old Cambridge ? Hope you do. 
Born there ? Don't say so ! I was too. 

Parson TurrelVs Legacy. 

Let each unhallowed cause that brings 

The stern destroyer cease, 
Thy flaming angel fold his wings 

And seraphs whisper Peace ! 

Parting Hymn. 

Many ideas grow better when transplanted into an- 
other mind than in the one where they sprang up. 
That which was a weed in one intelligence becomes a 



Poets' Birthdays. 139 

flower in the other. A flower, on the other hand, may 
dwindle down to a mere weed by the same change. — 
The Poet at the Breakfast -table. 

None wept, — none pitied; — they who knelt 

At morning by the despot's throne 
At evening dashed the laureled bust 

And spurned the wreaths themselves had strewn. 

The Dying Seneca. 

Over the hill sides the wild knell is tolling, 
From their far hamlets the yeomanry come; 

As through the storm-clouds the thunder-burst rolling, 
Circles the beat of the mustering drum. 

Lexington. 

Poor conquered monarch ! though that haughty glance 
Still speaks thy courage unsubdued by time, 

And in the grandeur of thy sullen tread 
Lives the proud spirit of thy burning clime. 

To a Caged Lion. 

Questioning all things: Why her Lord had sent her ? 
What were these torturing gifts, and wherefore lent her ? 
Scornful as spirit fallen, its own tormentor. 

Iris, Her Book. 

Rain me sweet odors on the air 
And wheel me up my Indian chair, 
And spread some book not overwise 
Flat out before my sleepy eyes. 

Midsummer. 

Scenes of my youth ! awake, its slumbering fire ! 
Ye winds of Memory, sweep the silent lyre ! 
Ray of the past, if yet thou canst appear, 
Break through the clouds of Fancy's waning year. 

A Metrical Essay. 



140 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Trees as we see them, love them, adore them in the 
fields, where they are alive, holding their green sun- 
shades over our heads, talking to us with their hundred 
thousand whispering tongues, looking down on us with 
that sweet meekness which belongs to huge but limited 
organisms. — The Autocrat of the Breakfast-table. 

Unscathed, she treads the wreck-piled street 

Whose narrow gaps afford 
A pathway for her bleeding feet, 

To seek her absent lord. Agnes. 

Virtue — the guide that men and nations own ; 
And Law — the bulwark that protects her throne; 
And Health — to all its happiest charm that lends, — 
These and their servants, man's untiring friends. 

A Modest Request. 

Wan-visaged thing ! thy virgin leaf 
To me looks more than deadly pale, 

Unknowing what may stain thee yet, — 
A poem or a tale. 

To a Blank Sheet of Paper. 

"It ain't jest the thing to grease your ex with ile o' 
vitrul," said the Member. — The Poet at the Breakfast- 
table. 

Ye know not, — but the hour is nigh; 

Ye will not heed the warning breath; 
No vision strikes your clouded eye, 

To break the sleep that wakes in death. 

The Last Prophecy of Cassandra. 

" By Zhorzhe !" as friend Sales is accustomed to cry, 
You tell me they're dead, but I know it's a lie; 
Is Jackson not President? What was'1 you said ? 
It can't be; you're joking; what, — all of 'cm dead ? 

Once JJore. 



Poets' Birthdays. 141 

Under the Washington Elm, Cambridge. 

April 27, 1861. 

Eighty years have passed, and more, 

Since under the brave old tree 
Our fathers gathered in arms, and swore 
They would follow the sign their banners bore, 

And fight till the land was free. 

Half of their work was done, 

Half is left to do,— 
Cambridge, and Concord, and Lexington ! 
When the battle is fought and won, 

What shall be told of you ? 

Hark ! — 'tis the south-wind moans, — 

Who are the martyrs down ? 
Ah, the marrow was true in your children's bone* 
That sprinkled with blood the cursed stones 

Of the murder-haunted town ! 

What if the storm-clouds blow ? 

What if the green leaves fall ? 
Better the crashing tempest's throe 
Than the army of worms that gnawed below; 

Trample them one and all ! 

Then, when the battle is won, 

And the land from traitors free, 
Our children shall tell of the strife begun 
When Liberty's second April sun 

Was bright on our brave old tree ! 



142 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Two Streams. 

Behold the rocky wall 

That down its sloping sides 
Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall 

In rushing river-tides ! 

Yon stream, whose sources run 

Turned by a pebble's edge, 
Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun 

Through the cleft mountain-ledge. 

The slender rill had strayed, 

But for the slanting stone, 
To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid 

Of foam-flecked Oregon. 

So from the heights of Will 

Life's parting stream descends, 
And, as a moment turns its slender rill, 

Each widening torrent bends,— 

From the same cradle's side, 

From the same mother's knee, — 
One to long darkness and the frozen tide, 

One to the Peaceful Sea. 



International Ode 

OUR FATHERS' LAND.* 

God bless our Fathers' Land ! 
Keep her in heart and hand 

One with our own ! 
From all her foes defend. 
Be her brave People's Friend, 
On all her realms descend, 

Protect her Throne ! 



* Sung in unison by twelve hundred children of the public schools, at the 
visit of the Prince of Wales to Boston, October 18, 18G0. Air, " God save the 
Queen." 



Poets' Birthdays. 143 

Father, with loving care 

Guard Thou her kingdom's Heir, 

Guide all his ways: 
Thine arm his shelter be, 
From him by land and sea 
Bid storm and danger flee, 

Prolong his days ! 

Lord, let War's tempest cease, 
Fold the whole Earth in peace 

Under thy wings ! 
Make all Thy nations one, 
All hearts beneath the sun, 
Till thou shalt reign alone, 

Great King of kings I 



James Russell Lowell's Birthday Festival. 

We will not speak of years to-night, 
For what have years to bring 

But larger floods of love and light, 
And sweeter songs to sing. 

Enough for him the silent grasp 

That knits us hand in hand, 
And he the bracelet's radiant clasp 

That locks our circling band. 

Strength to his hours of manly toil, 

Peace to his starlit dreams ! 
Who loves alike the furrowed soil, 

The music-haunted streams ! 

Sweet smiles to keep forever bright 

The sunshine on his lips, 
And faith that sees the ring of light 

Round nature's last eclipse. 



144 Pieces for Every Occasion. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Born Feb. 27, 1807. Died March 24, 1882. 



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

William W. Story. 

A pure sweet spirit, generous and large 
Was thine, dear poet. Calm, unturbulent, 
Its course along Life's varying ways it went, 

Like some broad river on whose happy marge 

Are noble groves, lawns, towns— which takes the charge 
Of peaceful freights from inward regions sent 
For human use and help and heart's content, 

And bears Love's sunlit sails and Beauty's barge. 

So brimming, deepening ever to the sea 

Through gloom and sun, reflecting inwardly 
The ever-changing heavens of day and night, 

Thy life flowed on, from all low passions free, 
Filled with high thoughts, charmed into Poesy 
To all the world a solace and delight. 



Yes, we were warm friends. He was a delightful man 
and a great poet. HaAvthorne, Emerson, Longfellow, and 
myself were always friends. There were no jealousies 
between us, and each took a pride in the work and 
successes of the other. We would exchange notes upon 
our productions, and if one saw a kindly notice of the 
other it was always cut out and sent him. — John" G. 
Whittier. 



Poets' Birthdays. 145 

The magnetism of Longfellow's touch lies in the 
broad humanity of his sympathy which commends his 
poetry to the universal heart. His artistic sense is so 
exquisite that each of his poems is a valuable literary 
study. Longfellow's mind takes a simple, childlike 
hold of life. His delightful familiarity with the pure 
literature of all languages and times must rank him 
among the learned poets. — George William Cuetis. 



It is a singular fact that Longfellow is more popular 
in England than Tennyson, the laureate. Yet perhaps 
it is not so very singular. He sings like one whose 
heart has been warmed at the hearth-stone. There is 
hardly a line of his but would rhyme with the chirp of 
the cricket; hearts are hearts whatever blood quickens 
them, and he has touched the heart as no other poet of 
his day has. Is there any one whose life is likely to 
remind us more forcibly of the sublimity of patience, 
truth, purity, and all the virtues than that of Henry 
Wadsworth Longfellow ? — Eichard Hehry Stod- 
dard. 



A poetical atmosphere, an aroma, hung about Long- 
fellow as about no other of our poets. He was as- 
sociated with memories of the early years of the republic; 
with the picturesque epoch of our national existence; 
with the dawn of democratic institutions, with the 
flushing hope which reddened the sky when the young 
nation committed itself so cordially to faith in man. 
His name was seldom spoken except in connection with 
charity and good- will. And when he died, the sorrow of 
the greatest and of the least was equally sincere. — Ret. 
Octavius B. Frothingham. 



146 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Ca:n" it be that a man like this is dead ? I cannot 
believe it. Like a lark that sings and soars, and still 
sings fading ont of sight in the blue heavens. I cannot 
believe that he has gone because he has disappeared 
from our view. A rounded life was his; his work was 
done. Where has he gone ? We may not know as yet. 
So far as we are concerned, he has gone, to quote his 
own words, "into the silent land." We will rejoice that 
he has left behind him words that will sing their song of 
trust and hope for many a year to come. — Rev. Minot 
J. Savage. 



A Longfellow Alphabet. 

Awake ! arise ! the hour is late ! 

Angels are knocking at thy door ! 
They are in haste and cannot wait, 

And once departed come no more. 

A Fragment. 

Bear a lily in thy hand ; 

Gates of brass cannot withstand 

One touch of that magic wand. 

Maidenhood. 

Closed was the teacher's task, .and with heaven in their hearts 

and their faces 
Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full 

sorely, 
Downward to kiss that reverend hand. 

Children of the Lord's Supper. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright realms of air; 
Year after year, her lender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. Resignation. 



Poets' Birthdays. 147 

Each heart has its haunted chamber, 
Where the silent moonlight falls! 

On the floor are mysterious footsteps, 
There are whispers along the walls ! 

The Haunted Chamber. 

"Farewell !" the portly landlord cried; 

" Farewell !" the parting guests replied, 
But little thought that never more 
Their feet would pass that threshold o'er. 

Tales of a Wayside Inn. 

Gone are all the barons bold, 
Gone are all the knights and squires; 

Gone the abbot, stern and cold, 
And the brotherhood of friars. 

Oliver Basselin. 

How many centuries has it been 

About those deserts blown ! 
How many strange vicissitudes has seen, 

How many histories known ! 

JSand of the Desert. 

It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp 
The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace, 
It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, 
And hold it up and shake it like a fleece. 

The Lighthouse. 

Just above yon sandy bar, 

As the day grows faint and dimmer, 

Lone]y and lovely, a single star 

Lights the air with a dusky glimmer. 

Chrysaor. 

Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children, a crucifix fast- 
ened 

High on the trunk of the tree. This was their rural chapel. 

Evangeline. 
10 



148 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Left to myself, I wander as I will, 
And as my fancy leads me, through this house; 
Nor could I ask a dwelling more complete, 
Were I indeed the goddess that he deems me. 

The Masque of Pandora. 

Month after month passed away, and in autumn the ships of 

the merchants 
Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the 

Pilgrims. The Courtship of Miles Standish. 

Nine sisters, beautiful in form and face, 
Came from their convent on the shining heights 
Of Pierus, the mountain of delights, 
To dwell among the people at its base. 

The Nine Muses. 

" O Caesar, we who are about to die 
Salute you !" was the gladiators 1 cry 
In the arena, standing face to face 
With death and with the Roman populace. 

Morituri Salutamus. 

Peradventure of old, some bard in Ionian Islands, 
Walking alone by the sea, hearing the wash of the waves, 
Learned the secret from them of the beautiful verse elegiac. 

Elegiac Verse. 

Quiet, close, and warm, 
Sheltered from all molestation, 
And recalling by their voices 
Youth and travel. 

To an Old Banish Song-hook. 

River ! that in silence windest 
Through the meadows, bright and free, 

Till at length thy rest thou Kindest 
In the bosom of the sea ! 

To the River Charles. 



Poets' Birthdays. 149 

Sudden and swift, a whistling ball 
Came out of a wood, and the voice was still; 
Something I heard in the darkness fall, 
And for a moment my blood grew chill. 

. Killed at the Ford. 

Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, 
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand 
Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, 
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domains. 

Autumn. 

Up soared the lark into the air, — 
A shaft of song, a winged prayer, 
As if a soul, released from pain, 
Were flying back to heaven again. 

The Sermon of St. Francis. 

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my 

brain; 
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again. 

The Belfry of Bruges. 

Whereunto is money good ? 
Who has it not wants hardihood; 
Who has it has much trouble and care; 
Who once has had it has despair. 

Poetic Aphorisms. 

"Excelsior!" 

Excelsior. 

Youth is lovely, age is lonely, 
Youth is fiery, age is frosty; 
You bring back the days departed, 
And the beautiful Wenonah. 

Hiawatha. 

Zeal was stronger than fear or love. 

Tales of a Wayside Inn. 



150 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Musings. 

[An early poem, not usually published.] 

I sat by my window one night, 

And watched how the stars grew high, 

And the earth and skies were a splendid sight 
To a sober and musing eye. 

From heaven the silver moon shone down, 
With a gentle and mellow ray, 

And beneath, the crowded roofs of the town 
In broad light and shadow lay. 

A glory was on the silent sea, 

And mainland and island too, 
Till a haze came over the lowland lea, 

And shrouded the beautiful blue. 

Bright in the moon the autumn wood 

Its crimson scarf unrolled, 
And the trees like a splendid army stood, 

In a panoply of gold ! 

I saw them waving their banners high, 
As their crests to the night wind bowed; 

And a distant sound on the air went by, 
Like the whispering of a crowd. 

Then I watched from my windows how fast 

The lights around me fled, 
As the wearied man to his slumber passed, 

And the sick one to his bed. 

All faded save one; that burned 
With a distant and steady light; 

But that, too, went out, and I turned 
When my own lamp within shone bright ! 



Poets' Birthdays. 151 

Thus, thought I, our joys must die; 

Yes, the brightest from earth we win; 
Till each turns away, with a sigh, 

To the lamp that burns brightly within. 



The City and the Sea. 

The panting City cried to the Sea, 

I am faint with heat, — O breathe on me ! 

And the Sea said, " Lo, I breathe ! but my breath 
To some will be life, to others death !" 

As to Prometheus, bringing ease 
In pain, come the Oceanides, 

So to the City, hot with flame 

Of the pitiless sun, the east wind came. 

It came from the heaving breast of the deep, 
Silent as dreams are, and sudden as sleep. 

Life-giving, death-giving, which will it be, 
breath of the merciful, merciless Sea ? 



Loss and Gain. 

"When I compare 
What I have lost with what I have gained, 
What I have missed with what attained, 
Little room do I find for pride. 

I am aware 
How many days have been idly spent ; 
How like an arrow the good intent 
Has fallen short or been turned aside. 



152 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

But who shall dare " 
To measure loss and gain in this wise ? 
Defeat may be victory in disguise; 
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. 



Charles Sumner. 

Garlands upon his grave, 
And flowers upon his hearse, 

And to the tender heart and brave 
The tribute of this verse. 

His was the troubled life, 

The conflict and the pain, 
The grief, the bitterness of strife, 

The honor without stain. 

Death takes us by surprise, 
And stays our hurrying feet; 

The great design unfinished lies, 
Our lives are incomplete. 

But in the dark unknown 

Perfect their circles seem, 
Even as a bridge's arch of stone 

Is rounded in the stream. 

Were a star quenched on high, 

For ages would its light, 
Still traveling downward from the sky, 

Shine on our mortal sight. 

So when a great man dies, 

For years beyond our ken 
The light he leaves behind him lies 

Upon the paths of men. 



Poets' Birthdays. 153 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

Born Feb. 22, 1819. 



James Russell Lowell. 

[HARVARD COMMENCEMENT POEM.] 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

This is your month, the month of perfect days, 

Birds in full song and blossoms all ablaze; 

Nature herself your earliest welcome breathes, 

Spreads every leaflet, every bower in wreaths; 

Carpets her paths for your returning feet, 

Puts forth her best your coming steps to greet; 

And Heaven must surely find the earth in tune 

When Home, sweet Home, exhales the breath of June. 

These blessed days are waning all too fast, 

And June's bright visions mingling with the past; 

Lilacs have bloomed and faded, and the rose 

Has dropped its petals, but the clover blows 

And fills its slender tubes with honeyed sweets; 

The fields are pearled with milk-white margarites; 

The dandelion, which you sang of old, 

Has lost its pride of place, its crown of gold, 

But still displays its feathery-mantled globe, 

Which children's breath or wandering winds unrobe. 

These were your humble friends; your opened eyes 

Nature had trained her common gifts to prize; 

Not Cam or Isis taught you to despise 

Charles, with his muddy margin, and the harsh, 

Plebeian grasses of the reeking marsh. 



154 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

New England's home-bred scholar, well you knew 
Her soil, her speech, her people, through and through, 
And loved them ever with the love thai holds 
All sweet, fond memories in its fragrant folds. 
Though far and wide your winged words had flown, 
Your daily presence kept you all our own, 
Till with a sorrowing sigh, a thrill of pride, 
We heard your summons, and you left our side 
For larger duties and for tasks untried. 

Atlantic Monthly. 



We have been under the necessity of telling some un- 
pleasant truths about American literature from time to 
time ; and it is with hearty pleasure that we are now 
able to own that the Britishers have been, for the pres- 
ent, utterly aud apparently hopelessly beaten by a Yan- 
kee in one important department of poetry. The tyr- 
anny of a vulgar public opinion and the charlatanism 
which is the price of political power, are butts for the 
shafts of the satirist which European poets may well 
envy Mr. Lowell. — North British Review. 



Though eminent and able in many ways, Lowell re- 
mains absolutely a poet in feeling. His native genius 
was fostered by the associations of a singularly beautiful 
home ; nourished by the works of the dramatists, by the 
ideal pictures of poets and novelists, by the tender 
solemnity of the discourses of his father, and of Chan- 
ning and others of his father's friends. Though he was 
not a rhyming prodigy like Pope, lisping in numbers, 
his first effusions as he came to manhood were in poetic 
form, — FiiA^CES H. Undekwood. 



Poets' Birthdays. 155 

Lowell is a remarkable man and poet. That he is 
one of the first poets of this age, no man will deny. He 
is sincerely a reformer; his sympathies are entirely with 
the oppressed and down-trodden. Some of his poems 
are exceedingly beautiful, while others are full of grand 
thoughts which strike upon the ear and heart like the 
booming cannon-shot, which tells that an ardently de- 
sired conflict has commenced. — David W. Baeileil. 



The most characteristic and most essential happens 
to be the most salient quality of Mr. Lowell's style. It 
is a wit that is as omnipresent and as tireless as electric- 
ity itself. The effect is quite indescribable. We are 
sure that no other equal amount of literature could be 
i luced that would yield to a competent assay a larger 
net result of pure wit. Generally the spirit of the wit 
is humane and gracious. — W. C. WiLKrcfSOiif. 



Me. Lowell says somewhere that the art of writing 
consists largely in knowing what to leave in the ink-pot. 
How many volumes of Lowell's prose works if not in 
the waste-basket are almost as effectually buried in 
papers and magazines ? What his working life has given 
to the world will give the reader some notion of what 
the world has not got, and will serve to call attention to 
the condensed wealth contained in "Among my Books'" 
and f -'Mv Study Windows."— Rev. H. E. Haweis. 



156 Pieces for Every Occasion. 



A Lowell Alphabet. 

Another star 'neath Time's horizon dropped 
To gleam o'er unknown lands and seas; 

Another heart that beat for freedom stopped, — 
What mournful words are these ! 

To the Memory of Hood. 

Bowing then his head, he listened 

For an answer to his prayer; 
No loud burst of thunder followed, 

Not a murmur stirred the air. 

A Parable. 

Care, not of self, but of the common weal, 
Had robbed their eyes of youth, and left instead 
A look of patient power and iron will. 

A Glance behind the Curtain. 

Dear, common flower, that grow'st beside the way 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 
First pledge of blithesome May. 

To the Dandelion. 

Each man is some man's servant; every soul 
Is by some other's presence quite discrowned; 
Each owes the next through all the imperfect round. 

The Pioneer. 

For mankind are one in spirit, 

And an instinct bears along, 
Kound the earth's electric circle, 

The swift flash of right or wrong. 

The Present Crisis. 

Glorious fountain ! 

Let my heart be 
Fresh, changeful, const ant, 

Upward, like thee ! 

The Fountain. 



Poets' Birthdays. 157 

He could believe the promise of to-morrow 
And feel the wondrous meaning of to-day; 

He had a deeper faith in holy sorrow 
Than the world's seeming loss could take away. 

Ode. 

It is God's day. It is Columbus's, 

A lavish day ! One day, with life and heart, 

Is more than time enough to find a world. 

Columbus. 

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; 
Everything is happy now, 
Everything is upward striving. 

The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

Knew you what silence was before ? 
Here is no startle of dreaming bird 
That sings in his sleep, or strives to sing. 

Pictures from Appledore. 

Life may be given in many ways, 

And loyalty to Truth be sealed 

As bravely in the closet as the field. 

Commemoration Ode. 

My soul went forth, and, mingling with the tree, 
Danced in the leaves; or, floating in the cloud, 
Saw its white double in the stream below. 

Under the Willows. 

Not always unimpeded can I pray, 

Nor, pitying saint, thine intercession claim. 

Sea-weed. 

O realm of silence and of swart eclipse, 

The shapes that haunt thy gloom 
Make signs to us, and move thy withered lips 

Across the gulf of doom. 

To the Past. 



158 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Pan leaps and pipes all summer long, 
The fairies dance each full-mooned night, 
Would we but doff our lenses strong, 
And trust our wiser eyes' delight. 

TJie Foot-path. 

Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree, 
And, listening fearfully, he heard once more 
The low voice murmur " Khoecus," close at hand. 

Rhoecus. 

Roots, wood, bark, and leaves singly perfect may be, 
But, clapt hodge-podge together, they don't make a tree. 

A Fable for Critics. 



Since first I saw Atlantic throw 
On our fierce rocks his thunderous snow, 
I loved thee, Freedom ! 

Ode to France. 

Thine is music such as yields 
Feelings of old brooks and fields, 
And, around this pent-up room, 
Sheds a woodland, free perfume. 

To Perdita, Singing. 

Untremulous in the river clear, 

Towards the sky's image, hangs the imaged bridge; 

So still the air that I can hear 

The slender clarion of the unseen midge. 

Summer Storm. 

Violet ! sweet violet ! 
Thine eyes are full of tears; 
Are they wet 
Even yet 

lit of other years ? 

Song. 



Poets' Birthdays. 159 

Wrong ever builds on quicksands, but the Right 
To the firm center lays its moveless base. 

Prometheus. 

Extemp'ry mammoth turkey-chick fer a Fejee Thanksgivin". 

The Biglow Papers. 

Yet sets she not her soul so steadily 
Above that she forgets her ties to earth. 

Irene. 

Zekle crep" up quite unbeknown 
An' peeked in thru' the winder, 

An' there sot Huldy all alone 
"Ith no one ni^h to hender. 

T7w Omrtiri. 



The First Snow-fall. 

The snow had begun in the gloaming, 

And busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 

With a silence deep and white. 

Every pine and fir and hemlock 
Wore ermine too dear for an earl, 

And the poorest twig on the elm -tree 
Was ridged inch deep with pearl. 

From sheds new roof d with Carrara 
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow: 

The stiff sails were softened to swan's down, 
And still flutter'd down the snow. 

I stood and watch'd by the window 

The noiseless work of the sky. 
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds 

Like brown leaves whirling bv. 



160 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn 
Where a little head-stone stood; 

How the flakes were folding it gently, 
As did robins the babes in the wood. 

Up spoke our own little Mabel, 
Saying, ' ' Father, who makes it snow ?" 

And I told of the good All-father 
Who cares for us here below. 

Again I look'd at the snow-fall, 
And thought of the leaden sky 

That arch'd o'er our first great sorrow, 
When that mound was heap'd so high. 

I remember'd the gradual patience 
That fell from that cloud like snow, 

Flake by flake, healing and hiding 
The scar of our deep-plung'd woe. 

And again to the child I whisper'd, 
' ' The snow that husheth all, 

Darling, the merciful Father 
Alone can make it fall !" 

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kiss'd her; 

And she, kissing back, could not know 
That my kiss was given to her sister, 

Folded close under deepening snow. 



Poets' Birthdays. 161 



Abraham Lincoln. 

Nature, they say, doth dote, 

And cannot make a man 
Save on some worn-out plan, 
Kepeating us by rote. 
For him her Old World molds aside she threw, 
And, choosing sweet clay from the breast 
Of the unexhausted West, 
With stuff untainted shaped a hero new, 
Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. 

How beautiful to see 
Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, 
Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead; 
One whose meek flock the people joyed to be, 
Not lured by any cheat of birth, 
But by his clear-grained human worth, 
And brave old wisdom of sincerity ! 
They knew that outward grace is dust; 
They could not choose but trust 
In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, 

And supple-tempered will, 
That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. 
His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind — 
Broad prairie, rather, genial, level-lined, 
Fruitful and friendly for all human kind. 
Here was a type of the true elder race, 
And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face. 



Wendell Phillips. 

He stood upon the world's broad threshold ; wide 
The din of battle and of slaughter rolled; 

He saw God stand upon the weaker side, 
That sank in seeming loss before its foes; 

Many there were who made great haste and sold 
Unto the cunning enemy their swords. 



162 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

He scorned their gifts of fame, and flower, and gold, 
And underneath their soft and flowery words 

Heard the cold serpent hiss; therefore he went 
And humbly joined him to the weaker part. 

Fanatic named, and fool, yet well content 
So he could be the nearer to God's heart, 

And feel its solemn pulses sending blood 

Through all the wide-spread veins of endless good. 



Freedom. 

Men ! — whose boast it is that ye 
Come of fathers brave and free, 
If there breathe on earth a slave, 
Are ye truly free and brave ? 
If ye do not feel the chain 
When it works a brother's pain, 
Are ye not base slaves indeed — 
Slaves unworthy to be freed ? 

Is true Freedom but to break 
Fetters for our own dear sake, 
And, with leathern hearts, forget 
That we owe mankind a debt ? 
No ! — true freedom is to share 
All the chains our brothers wear, 
And with heart and hand to be 
Earnest to make others free ! 

They are slaves who fear to speak 

For the fallen and the weak ; 

They are slaves who will not choose 

Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, 

Rather than in silence shrink 

From the truth they needs must think. 

They are slaves who dare not be 

In the right with two or three. 



Poets' Birthdays. 1G3 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITT1ER. 

Born Dec. 17, 1807. 



To John G. Whittier. 

James Russell Lowell. 

New England's poet, rich, in love as years, 
Her hills and valleys praise thee, and her brooks 
Dance to thy song; to her grave sylvan nooks 

Thy feet allure us, which the wood-thrush hears 

As maids their lovers, and no treason fears. 

Through thee her Merrimacks and Angloochooks, 
And many a name uncouth, win loving looks, 

Sweetly familiar to both England's years. 

Peaceful by birthright as a virgin lake 
The lily's anchorage which no eyes behold 

Save those of stars, yet for thy brother's sake 
That lay in bonds, thou blew'st a blast as bold, 

As that wherewith the heart of Roland brake 
Far heard through Pyrennean valleys cold. 



If there is any one in our age whom all men will ad- 
mit to have been born a poet, it is Whittier. He is less 
indebted to art, to scholastic culture, to the influences 
of literary companionship, than any of his brethren. 
He is a fiery apostle of human brotherhood, and has 
chanted anathemas against war, and every form of cruel- 
ty and superstition. He is eminently a national poet. 
His mind is in full sympathy with the progressive ideas 
of the New World. — Frances H. Underwood. 



164 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Much of Whittier's work has been in the form of con- 
tributions to journals which he has edited, and the two 
volumes which now constitute his collected prose writ- 
ings have been gathered from these occasional papers. 
Himself of Quaker descent and belief, he has touched 
kindly but firmly the changing life of the day which cul- 
minated in the witchcraft delusion and displayed itself 
in the persecution of the Quakers. The carelessness of 
literary fame which Whittier has shown may be referred 
to the sincerity of his devotion to that which literature 
affects, and he has written and sung out of a heart very 
much in earnest to offer some help, or out of the pleas- 
ure of his work. The careful student of his writings 
will always value most the integrity of his life. — Horace 
E. Scudder. 



Whittier's genius is Hebrew — more so than that of 
any other poet now using the English language. He is 
a flower of the moral sentiment in its masculine rigor, 
climbing like a forest pine. In this respect he affiliates 
with Wordsworth, and, going farther back, with Milton, 
whose tap-root was Hebrew. The man and the poet are 
one and the same. — Rev. David A. Wasson. 



Whittier is in some respects the most American of 
all the American poets. It is safe to say that he has 
been less influenced by other literatures than any of our 
poets, with the exception, perhaps, of Bryant. The af- 
fectionate simplicity of Whittier's nature is seen in the 
poems which he addressed to his personal friends and to 
those whose life-pursuits ran in the same channels as his 
own moral sympathies. — Richard II knijy Stoddard. 



Poets* Birthdays. 165 

I have not seen John Greenleaf Wliittier, but I have 
had correspondence "with hint and have great affection 
for him. During the American war an eminent citizen 
of Massachusetts told me he thought there was no man 
in the United States whose writings at that time, and 
for some years before then, had had such great influence 
on public opinion as the writings of WMttier. If God 
gives a real poet to the people at a time like that, does 
He not verily speak to the people and ask them to return 
to the ways of mercy and righteousness ? — Johx Bright. 



A Whittler Alphabet. 

A cottage hidden in the wood. 

Red" through its seams a light is glowing, 
On rock and bough and tree-trunk rude 

A narrow luster throwing. 

Mogg Megone. 

But welcome, be it old or new. 

The gift which makes the day more bright, 
And paints upon the ground of cold 

And darkness warmth and light. 

Flowers in Winter. 

Cheerily then, my little man. 

Live and laugh as boyhood can ! 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy 

Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 

The Barefoot Boy. 

Down on my native hills of June 

And home's green quiet, hiding all, 
Fell sudden darkness like the fall 

Of midnight upon noon ! 

The Rendition. 



166 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Early hath the spoiler found thee, 

Brother of our love, 
Autumn's faded earth around thee, 

And its storms above ! 

On the Death of S. 0. Torrey. 

Father, to Thy suffering poor 

Strength and grace and faith impart, 

And with Thy own love restore 
Comfort to the broken heart. 

The Familists 1 Hymn. 

God's stars and silence taught thee 

As His angels only can, 
That the one sole sacred thing beneath 

The cope of heaven is Man. 

The Branded Hand. 

How hushed the hiss of party hate, 

The clamor of the throng ! 
How old, harsh voices of debate 

Flow into rhythmic song ! 

My Birthday. 

I walk, with noiseless feet, the round 

Of uneventful years; 
Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring 

And reap the autumn ears. 

My Playmate. 

Just then I felt the deacon's hand 
In wrath my coat-tail seize on; 

I heard the priest cry, " Infidel !" 
The lawyer mutter, " Treason !" 

A Sabbath Scene. 

Know we not our dead are looking 
Downward with a sad surprise, 

All our strife of words rebuking 
With their mild and loving eyes ? 

A Visit to Washington. 



Poets' Birthdays. 167 

Lift again the stately emblem 

On the Bay State's rusted shield; 
Give to Northern winds the Pine Tree 

On our banner's tattered field. 

The Pine Tree. 

More than clouds of purple trail 

In the gold of setting day; 
More than gleams of wing or sail 

Beckon from the sea-mist gray. 

The Vanishers. 

No perfect whole can our nature make, 
Here or there the circle will break; 

The orb of life as it takes the light 
On one side, leaves the other in night. 

The Preacher. 

O friends whose hearts still keep their prime, 
Whose bright example warms and cheers, 

Ye teach us how to smile at Time, 
And set to music all his years. 

Tlxe Laurels. 

Proffering the riddles of the dread unknown 
Like the calm Sphinxes, with their eyes of stone 
Questioning the centuries from their veils of sand. 

Trust. 

Quiet and calm, without a fear 
Of danger darkly lurking near, 
The weary laborer left his plow, 
The milkmaid caroled by her cow. 

Pentucket. 

Kivermouth Rocks are fair to see, 
By dawn or sunset shone across, 
When the ebb of the sea has left them free 
To dry their fringes of gold-green moss. 

The Wreck of Rivermouth. 



168 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

So shall the Northern Pioneer go joyful on his way 
To wed Penobscot's waters to San Francisco's bay. 

The Crisis. 

Thank God that I have lived to see the time 
When the great truth begins at last to find 
An utterance from the deep heart of mankind, 

Earnest and clear, that all Revenge is Crime ! 

Abolition of the Gallows. 

Unchanged by our changes of spirit and frame 
Past, now, and henceforward the Lord is the same; 
Though we sink in the darkness, His arms break our fall, 
And in death as in life He is Father of all ! 

The Quaker Alumni. 

Vain pride of star-lent genius ! — vain 
Quick fancy and creative brain, 
Unblest by prayerful sacrifice, 
Absurdly great or weakly wise ! 

The Chapel of the Hermits. 

Wherever Freedom shivered a chain God speed, quoth I; 
To Error amidst her shouting train I gave the lie. 

My Soul and I. 

Ximena, speak and tell us 

Who has lost, and who has won ? 

Nearer came the storm and nearer, 
Rolling fast and frightful on. 

The Angels of Buena Vista. 

Yon mountain's side is black with night, 
While, broad-orbed, o'er its gleaming crown, 

The moon, slow rounding into sight, 
On the hushed, inland sea looks down. 

Summer by the Lakeside. 

Zephyr-like o'er all tilings going 
When the breath divine is flowing, 
All my yearnings to be free 

ering Th 

Hymn from the French. 



Poets' Birthdays. 169 



The Moral Warfare. 

John G. Whittier. 

Wken Freedom on her natal day 

Within her war-rocked cradle lay, 

An iron race around her stood, 

Baptized her infant brow in blood; 

And through the storm which round her swept 

Their constant ward and watching kept. 

Then, where our quiet herds repose 
The roar of baleful battle rose, 
And brethren of a common tongue 
To mortal strife as tigers sprung; 
And every gift on Freedom's shrine 
Was man for beast, and blood for wine ! 

Our fathers to their graves have gone: 
Their strife is past — their triumph won; 
But sterner trials wait the race 
Which rises in their honored place — 
A moral warfare with the crime 
And folly of an evil time. 

So let it be. In God's own might 

We gird us for the coming fight, 

And, strong in Him whose cause is ours, 

In conflict with unholy powers, 

We grasp the weapon He has given — 

The light, and truth, and love of heaven. 



Eecentlt a number of school-children of Girard, Pa., 
wrote a letter to John G. Whittier, the Quaker poet, 
telling him that they had learned to recite ' ' The Barefoot 
Boy/' "The Huskers," and "Maud Muller," and clos- 
ing thus: "If it would not be too much trouble, please 



170 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

write a verse for us — something that we could learn and 
always remember as having been written by you especially 
for us." In response he sent the following: 

" Faint not and falter not, nor plead 

Your weakness. Truth itself is strong; 
The lion's strength, the eagle's speed, 
Are not alone vouchsafed to wrong. 

" Your nature, which, through fire and blood, 
To place or gain can find its way, 
Has power to seek the highest good, 
And duty's holiest call obey." 



The Light that is Felt. 

A tender child of summers three, 
Seeking her little bed at night, 

Paused on the dark stair timidly. 

" mother; take my hand," said she, 
"And then the dark will all be light." 

We older children grope our way 

From dark behind to dark before; 
And only when our hands we lay, 
Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, 
And there is darkness nevermore. 

Reach downward to the sunless days 
Wherein our guides are blind as we, 

And faith is small and hope delays; 

Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, 
And let us feel the light of Thee. 



TEHPEBAffCE SELECTIONS. 



Water. 

Sweet, beautiful water! clear, pure, refreshing! 
that never brings sorrow to those who use it. Pour 
but a drop of this upon the drooping flower, and it will 
lift its head, as if to bless you. Apply but a drop 
of man's distilling, and the flower withers and dies. 

Bestow but a cup of this on the famishing traveler 
in the sun-parched desert, and how gladly would he 
return it with overflowing gold! for he is dying with 
thirst, and the poisonous, intoxicating draught is but 
mockery now. 

Sweet, beautiful water! brewed in the running 
brook; the rippling fountain; and the laughing rill! 
brewed in the sparkling dew-drop! brewed in yonder 
mountain top, which glitters like gold bathed in the 
morning sun! 

Sweet, beautiful water! brewed in the clouds of 
Heaven; in the white-topped wave of the wide, wide 
ocean; driven by the storm, breathing its terrible 
anthem to the God of the sea! brewed in the fleecy 
foam and whitened spray, as it hangs like a speck 
over the distant cataract! 

Sweet, beautiful water! no poison bubbles at its 
fountain! its foam brings not madness and murder! 
no blood stains its liquid glass! no pale and starving 
orphans weep burning tears in its clear depths! no 



172 Pieces for Every Occas 



ion. 



drunkard's shrieking ghost from the grave curses it 
in words of despair! 



The Great National Scourge. 

Howeyek viewed, and wherever found, intem- 
perance, in its beginning, its progress, and its end, 
is everywhere marked by desolation and woe. Alcohol, 
both in name and in truth, is the poison of our species. 
Chemical analysis and physiological experiment have 
established beyond controversy that alcohol, received 
into the stomach, remains unchanged — unassimilatcd 
— and as such travels with the blood, through the 
various arteries, veins, and organs of the system, not 
as blood nor as its fit companion, but as a murderous 
associate, a treacherous highwayman, charged with 
poison and commissioned to destroy. 

In its journey round it feeds upon the liver, 
corrodes the lungs, burns the stomach, ruins the ap- 
petite, impairs digestion, discolors and vitiates the 
blood, defiles the breath, crimsons the nose, parches 
the lips, blisters the tongue, scalds the throat, husks 
the voice, bloats the face, dims the eye, wastes the 
muscles, palsies the limbs, deranges the nerves, and 
consumes the heart; and, as though its warrant was 
not yet fully executed, a detached portion of it aims 
at the head, breaks through its delicate vessels, crowds 
out reason, and takes up its poisonous, sacrilegious 
residence in the brain, and fears not to profane 
Divinity's earthly temple. 

But even now its baneful work is hardly begun. 
Having thus undermined Hie health, and prepared the 
system for the ravages of disease, it strikes at the 



Temperance Selections. 173 

moral and intellectual powers of man. It enfeebles 
the understanding, impairs the judgment, effaces the 
memory, extinguishes sensibility, pollutes the imagi- 
nation, depraves the taste, stupefies conscience, anni- 
hilates honor, prostrates self-respect, debases the 
social affections, sours the disposition, inflames the 
wicked passions, dethrones the reason, and contami- 
nates the heart, and thus quenches rational life and 
blots out the moral image of Deity's handiwork. Why, 
therefore, must not the intemperate man become a 
human fiend? Who is safe where he is? 

And yet its march of ruin is onward still! It 
reaches abroad to others, invades the family and social 
circle, and spreads woe and sorrow all round. It cuts 
down youth in its vigor, manhood in its strength, and 
age in its weakness. It breaks the father's heart, be- 
reaves the doting mother, extinguishes natural affec- 
tion, erases conjugal love, blots out filial attachment, 
blights parental hope, and brings down mourning age 
in sorrow to the grave. It produces weakness, not 
strength; sickness, not health; death, not life. It 
makes wives widows, children orphans, fathers fiends, 
and all of them paupers and beggars. It covers the 
land with idleness, poverty, disease, and crime. It 
fills your jails, supplies your almshouses, and de- 
mands your asylums. It engenders controversies, 
fosters quarrels, and cherishes riots. It contemns 
law, spurns order, and loves mobs. It is the life-blood 
of the gambler, the aliment of the counterfeiter, the 
prop of the highwayman, and the support of the mid- 
night incendiary. 

It countenances the liar, respects the thief, and 
esteems the blasphemer. It violates obligation, rev- 



174 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

erences fraud, and honors infamy; it defames benevo- 
lence, hates love, accuses virtue, and slanders inno- 
cence. 

It suborns witnesses, nurses perjury, defiles the 
jury-box, and stains the judicial ermine. It bribes 
votes, disqualifies voters, corrupts elections, pollutes 
our institutions, and endangers our government. It 
degrades the citizen, debases the legislator, dishonors 
the statesman, and disarms the patriot. It brings 
shame, not honor; terror, not safety; despair, not hope; 
misery, not happiness. It poisons felicity, kills peace, 
ruins morals, blights confidence, slays reputation, and 
wipes out national honor; then curses the world and 
laughs at its ruins. 



Words of Cheer. 

Thomas H. Bakkek. 

The signs of the times are full of promise and redo- 
lent with hope. We are not fighting as those who 
beat the air. We are on high vantage ground. Our 
many battles through the last fifty years have been 
victorious advances. 

The temperance reformation is not a movement 
that can go backward. It is from the people, by the 
people, and for the people; and such a movement can- 
not but eventually succeed. 

The people in a constitutionally governed country 
are the source of political power, and no institution, 
traffic, monopoly, privilege, or vested interest, that is 
seen to be unjust and against the public weal, against 
the conscience and common-sense of the people, can 
continue to be defended and upheld. Before the voice 



Temperance Selections. 175 

and the vote and the determined will of the sovereign 
people, the liquor traffic must give way and be abol- 
ished. A thousand Liberty and Property Defense 
Leagues cannot uphold it, when the people vote 
against it. 

Temperance Eeformers! your cause is good and true 
and must prevail. Your case against the liquor traffic 
is fully proved — its facts are so strong, its principles 
and aims so just, and its arguments are so invincible 
and conclusive, that no impartial mind can examine 
and fail to be convinced. Your motives are so patri- 
otic, and your objects so beneficent, that true and 
noble souls must be won over to your side, and help 
to win the future and final victory. Let us not be 
weary in well-doing, but let us march forward against 
the enemy and into the battlefield. Let us respond 
to the clear, ringing bugle-note now calling us to ac- 
tion and duty. Pause not and waver not, but stand to 
your guns. Have the courage of your convictions. 
Be heroic in the strife, worthy of your good cause, 
and worthy of your brave leaders and champions who 
are always to the front, and close by you in the thick 
of the fight, leading you on to assured victory, and to 
a grand triumph for home and country, for God and 
humanity! 



It Is Coming. 
M. Florence Mosher. 

Do you hear an ominous muttering, as of thunder gath'ring 

round? 
Do you hear the nation tremble as an earthquake shakes the 

ground? 
Tis the waking of a people — 'tis a mighty battle sound. 



176 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Do you see the grand uprising of the people in their might? 
They are girding on their armor, they are arming for the 

fight, 
They are going forth to battle for the triumph of the Eight. 

For the power of Hum hath bound us, and the power of Rum 

hath reigned, 
Till baptismal robes of Liberty are tarnished, torn, and 

stained; 
Till the struggling nation shudders as its forces lie enchained. 

It has filled the scales of justice with unhallowed, blood-stained 

gold, 
And her sword to smite crime's minions now lies powerless in 

her hold; 
For the serpent of the still hath wrapped around it, fold by 

fold. 

It hath trampled o'er the hearthstone, and hath left it deso- 
late; 

It hath slain the wife and mother; it hath filled the world 
with hate; 

It hath wrecked the noblest manhood, and hath laughed to 
scorn the great. 

Shall it longer reign in triumph, longer wear its tyrant crown? 
Shall it firmer draw its fetters, firmer bind the nation down? 
Shall this grand young country longer bow and tremble 'neath 
its frown? 

No! Let every heart re-echo; rouse, ye gallant men and true! 
Rouse, ye broken-hearted mothers! See, the night is almost 

through; 
Rouse ye, every man and woman—God is calling now for you. 



Temperance Selections. Ill 

The Temperance Pledge. 

Thomas Fkancis Maeshall. 

It does appear to me that if the loftiest among the 
lofty spirits which move and act from day to day 
could hear the tales I have heard, and see the men I 
have seen, restored by the influence of a thing so sim- 
ple as this temperance pledge, from a state of the 
most abject wretchedness to industry, health, com- 
fort, and in their own emphatic language to " peace," 
he could not withhold his countenance and support 
from a cause fraught with such actual blessings to 
mankind. It is a thing of interest to see and to hear 
a free, bold, strong-armed, hard-fisted mechanic re- 
late, in his own nervous and natural language, the 
history of his fall and recovery; and I have heard 
him relate how the young man was brought up to 
labor, and expecting by patient toil to support himself 
and a rising family, had taken to his bosom in his 
youth the woman whom he loved — how he was 
tempted to quit her side, and forsake her society for 
the dram-shop, the frolic, the midnight brawl — how 
he had resolved and broken his resolutions till his 
business forsook him, his friends deserted him, his 
furniture seized for debt, his clothing pawned for 
drink, his wife broken-hearted, his children starving, 
his home a desert, and his heart a hell. Then he 
will exultingly recount the wonders wrought in his 
conditions by this same pledge: "My friends have 
come back, I have good clothes on, I am at work again, 
I am giving food and providing comforts for my chil- 
dren; I am free, I am a man, I am at peace here. My 
children no longer shrink, cowering and huddling 



178 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

together in corners or under the bed, for protection 
from the face of their own father. When I return at 
night they bound into my arms and nestle in my 
bosom. My wife, no longer, with a throbbing heart 
and agonized ear, counts my steps before she sees me, 
to discover whether I am drunk or sober; I find her 
singing and at work." 

I say these things have an interest, a mighty inter- 
est, for me; and I deem them not entirely beneath the 
regard of the proudest statesman here. On my con- 
science, I speak the truth when I say that if, by taking 
this pledge, it were even probable that it would bring 
back one human being to happiness and virtue, recall 
the smile of hope and trust and love to the cheek of 
one wife, send one rosy child bounding to the arms of 
a parent whence drunkenness had exiled it long, I 
would dare all the ridicule of all the ridiculous people 
in the world, and thank God that I had not lived in 
vain. And I have had that pleasure. 

Think not that I feel myself in a ridiculous posi- 
tion, and wish to divide it with others. By my honor 
as a gentleman, not so. That pledge, though confined to 
myself alone, and with reference only to its effect upon 
me, — my mind, my heart, my body, — I would not ex- 
change for all earth holds of brighest and best. Let 
the banners of this temperance cause go forward or go 
backward; let the world be rescued from its degrading 
and ruinous bondage to alcohol or not; I, for one, shall 
never repent Avhat I have done. I would not exchange 
the physical sensations, the mere sense of animal be- 
ing which belongs to a man who totally refrains from 
all that can intoxicate his brain or derange his nervous 
structure — the elasticity with which he bounds from 



Temperance Selections. 179 

his couch in the morning, the sweet repose it yields 
him at night, the feeling with which he drinks in 
through his clear eyes the beauty and the grandeur 
of surrounding nature; I say I would not exchange 
my conscious being as a strictly temperate man, — 
though poverty dogged me, though scorn pointed its 
slow finger at me as I passed, though want and desti- 
tution, and every element of earthly misery, save only 
crime, met my waking eye from day to day; not for all 
that time and earth can give would I cast from me 
this precious pledge of a liberated mind, this talis- 
man against temptation, and plunge again into the 
dangers and horrors which once beset my path; so 
help me Heaven, as I would spurn beneath my very 
feet all the gifts the universe could offer, and live and 
die as I am — poor, but sober. 



The Cry of Personal Liberty. 
Et. Key. Bishop Ireland. 

ISTo sooner is mention made of laws affecting the 
liquor traffic, than its cry of protest quickly reaches 
our ears. It speaks, it tells us, in the name of personal 
rights and personal liberty, violated by the laws 
which we would enforce or enact. Personal liberty! 
It ever was the fashion of wrong to bedeck itself with 
righteous name. Liberty is dear to the American 
people — so dear that the name is a passport to all 
hearts. But will we allow slavery and vice and death 
to borrow the precious name and to make their own 
the privileges and the rights of liberty? It is liberty 
herself that commands law to press down heavily to- 
day upon the liquor traffic. The first duty of the 



180 Pieces for Every 



ccasion. 



liberty-loving citizen is to hold more precious than the 
apple of his eye the life of the Eepublic, the mother 
and the guardian angel of liberty, to war against its 
enemies — and the enemy of the Eepublic is not more 
he who opposes her flag on the battlefield than he 
who scatters moral poison through her town and 
villages, and defies in his daily avocation her laws 
and her law-making power. Liberty means the right 
of all men to enjoy without disturbance life and prop- 
erty; not a title for one portion of the community to 
prey as hungry beasts -upon the other. Liberty, 
sacred name! To what base service they chain thee! 
They ask for liberty to rob of soul and life the minor 
and the habitual drunkard; to break in with riot and 
shame upon the quietness of our Sunday; to track to 
his home and workshop the poor laborer, lest he bring 
bread to starving wife and children! They ask 
for liberty to trample underfoot the laws of the land, 
to level against the Eepublic death-dealing blows! 
Not more audacious would be the clamoring of the 
spirit of the furious waters of our great rivers de- 
manding liberty to sweep away whole cities, and to 
engulf in the maddening abyss, hecatombs of human 
lives. No, no — we know and love liberty, but the cry 
of the traffic is not the cry of liberty. 



THE SEASONS. 



A Song of Waking. 

Katharine Lee Bates. 

The maple buds are red, are red, 

The robin's call is sweet : 
The blue sky floats above thy head, 

The violets kiss thy feet. 
The sun paints emeralds on the spray 

And sapphires on the lake; 
A million wings unfold to-day, 

A million flowers awake. 

Their starry cups the cowslips lift 

To catch the golden light, 
And like a spirit fresh from shrift 

The cherry tree is white. 
The innocent looks up with eyes 

That know no deeper shade 
Than falls from wings of butterflies 

Too fair to make afraid. 

With long, green raiment blown and wet 

The willows, hand in hand. 
Lean low to teach the rivulet 

What trees may understand 
Of murmurous tune and idle dance, 

With broken rhymes whose flow 
A poet's ear shall catch, perchance, 

A score of miles below. 



1S2 Pieces for Every Occasion, 

Across the sky to fairy realm 

There sails a cloud-born ship; 
A wind sprite standeth at the helm, 

With laughter on his lip; 
The melting masts are tipped with gold, 

The 'broidered pennons stream; 
The vessel beareth in her hold 

The lading of a dream. 

It is the hour to rend thy chains, 

The blossom time of souls; 
Yield all the rest to cares and pains, 

To-day delight controls. 
Gird on thy glory and thy pride, 

For growth is of the sun; 
Expand thy wings whate'er betide, 

The Summer is begun. 



The Spring. 
Mary Howitt. 

The Spring— she is a blessed thing; 

She is the mother of the flowers; 
She is the mate of birds and bees, 
The partner of their revelries, 

Our star of hope through wintry hours. 

The many children, when they see 

Her coming, by the budding thorn, 
They leap upon the cottage floor, 
They shout beside the cottage door, 
And run to meet her night and morn. 

They are soonest with her in the woods, 

Peeping, the withered leaves among, 
To find the earliest fragrant thing 
That dares from the cold earth to spring, 
Or catch the earliest wild bird's song. 



The Seasons. 183 

The little brooks run on in light, 

As if they had a chase of mirth; 
The skies are blue, the air is balm; 
Our very hearts have caught the charm 

That sheds a beauty over earth. 

Up! let us to the fields away, 
And breathe the fresh and balmy air; 

The bird is building in the tree, 

The flower has opened to the bee, 
And health and love and peace are there. 



The Voice of Spring. 

Mrs. Hemans. 

I come, I come ! ye have called me long; 
I come o'er the mountains, with light and song. 
Ye may trace my step o'er the waking earth 
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, 
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, 
By the green leaves opening as 1 pass. 

I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers 
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers, 
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes 
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains; 
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, 
To speak of the ruin or the tomb! 

I have looked on the hills of the stormy North, 

And the larch has hung all his tassels forth; 

The fisher is out on the sunny sea, 

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, 

And the pine has a fringe of softer green, 

And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been. 



184 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, 
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky, 
From the night bird's lay through the starry time, 
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime. 
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland la-. 
"When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks. 

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain; 

They are sweeping on to the silvery main, 

They are flashing down from the mountain brows, 

They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, 

They are bursting fresh from their sparry ft 

And the earth resounds with the joy of wra 

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, 
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen; 
Away from the chamber and sullen hearth, 
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth; 
Their light sterns thrill in the wildwood gtra 
And youth is abroad in my green domains. 



An April Day. 
Mrs. Socthey. 

All day the low-hung clouds have dropped 

Their garnered fullness down: 
All day that soft gray mist hath wrapped 

Hill, valley, grove, and town. 

There has not been a sound to-day 

To break the calm of Xature; 
!sor motion. I might almost say, 

Of life or living creature; 

Of waving bough, or warbling bird, 

Or cattle faintly low:: 
I could have half believed I h 

The li - - 



The Sea. sons. 185 

I stood to hear— I love it well — 

The rain's continuous sound; 
Small drops, but thick and fast they fell, 

Down straight into the ground. 

For leafy thickness is not yet 

Earth's naked breast to screen; 
Though every drooping branch is set 

"With shoots of tender green. 

Sure, since I looked at early morn, 

Those honeysuckle buds 
Have swelled to double growth; that thorn 

Hath put forth larger studs. 

That lilac's cleaving cones have burst, 

The milk-white flowers revealing; 
Even now upon my senses first 

Methinks their sweets are stealing. 

The very earth, the steamy air, 

Is all with fragrance rife; 
And grace and beauty everywhere 

Are flushing into life. 

Down, down they come — those fruitful stores, 

Those earth-rejoicing drops! 
A momentary deluge pours, 

Then thins, decreases, stops. 

And ere the dimples on the stream 

Have circled out of sight, 
Lo! from the west a parting gleam 

Breaks forth, of amber light. 

But yet behold! abrupt and loud 

Comes down the glittering rain; 
The farewell of a passing cloud, 

The fringes of her train. 



186 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Bird's Song in April. 

Clinton Scollard. 

Perched upon a maple bough, 
Sang a wren, " Tis April now ! " 

And the while he tuned his trills, 
Leaped the rills, 
Flushed the hills, 
And a hint of coming glory gleamed upon the mountain's brow. 

Down beside the reedy mere 
Piped a blackbird, " April's here ! " 
And the water murmured low, 
In its flow, 
' ' Soon will blow 
Lovely golden-petaled lilies for the blushing maiden year." 

Sweetly from the woodland's heart 
With his ever- joyous art, 

" April's come," a robin cried; 
"March has died; 
Winds that sighed, 
Mourning, moaning round the gables, play a merry lover's 
part." 

On an elm-tree branch asway, 
Caroled forth a joyous jay; 

Clear from his exuberant throat 

Note on note 

Seemed to float— 
"Joy in sun and joy in shower — April ushers in the May! " 



May. 



May comes laughing, crowned with daffodils, 
Her dress embroidered with blue violets. 
So gracious and so sweet she scarcely lets 

A thought return of all the winter's ills. 



The Seasons. 187 

The orchards with enchanting wealth she fills; 

In the green marshes golden cowslip sets, 

And all the waking woodland spaces frets 
With shy anemones. But ah, she wills 
At times to frown in sudden wayward mood; 

The violets shiver clinging to the ground, 
She's cold and blustering where once she wooed, 

And oftentimes in petulant tears is found; 
But like sweet women, who sometimes are cross, 
Her smiles come back the sweeter for their loss. 



June. 



She sits all day plaiting a wild-rose wreath, 
This daughter of the Sun, come from afar. 
Sweeter is she than her bright sisters are 

Who follow her across the flowery heath. 

A daisy is her sign, and underneath 

The meadow's foamy flow the clovers wear 
Their uniforms of white and red, and bear 

Their cups of sweet to scent their mistress' breath. 

What dawns are thine, O dear, delicious June, 
When at the drawing of thy curtain's fold 

The birds awake and sing a marvelous tune 
To the young Day that comes in rose and gold ! 

What twilights when the gray dusk hides thy face 

That thou mayst come with more enchanting grace ! 



A Summer Day. 

Over the fields the daisies lie, 

With the buttercups, under the azure sky; 

Shadow and sunshine, side by side, 

Are chasing each other o'er meadows wide; 

While the warm, sweet breath of the summer air 

Is filled with the perfume of blossoms fair. 



188 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Ferns and grasses and wild vines grow 
Close where the waters ripple and flow; 
And the merry zephyrs the livelong day 
With the nodding leaves are ever at play; 
And birds are winging their happy flight 
'Mongst all things beautiful, free, and bright. 

There's a hum of bees in the drowsy air, 
And a glitter of butterflies everywhere; 
From the distant meadow— so sweet and clear- 
The ring of the mower's scythe we hear, 
And the voices of those who make their hay 
In the gladsome shine of the summer's day. 

Sing, little robin, sing, and wait 

On the old rail fence for your tardy mate. 

All hearts rejoice in the happiness 

Of the perfect day. Like a sweet caress 

It lies on our hearts, and fills our eyes 

With the sunlight born of the tender skies. 



Indian Summer. 
John G. Whittier. 

From gold to gray 

Our mild sweet day 
Of Indian summer fades too soon; 

But tenderly 

Above the sea 
Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon. 

In its pale fire 
The village spire, 
Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance, 
The painted walls 
Wheron it falls, 
Transfigured stand in marble trance. 



The Seasons. 189 

September, 1815. 

William Wordsworth. 

While not a leaf seems faded, while the fields, 
With ripening harvests prodigally fair, 
In brightest sunshine bask, this nipping air, 

Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields 

His icy cimeter, a foretaste yields 
Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware, 
And whispers to the silent birds, u Prepare 

Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields. " 

For me, who, under kindlier laws, belong 
To Nature's tuneful choir, this rustling dry, 

Through the green leaves, and yon crystalline sky, 
Announce a season potent to renew, 

'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song, 

And nobler cares than listless summer knew. 



October. 

William Cullen Bryant. 

Ay, thou art welcome, Heaven's delicious breath, 
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, 
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, 

And the year smiles as it draws near its death. 

Wind of the sunny South, oh ! still delay 
In the gay woods and in the golden air, 
Like to a good old age released from care, 

Journeying, in long serenity, away. 
In such a bright, late quiet, would that I 

Might wear out life like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks, 

And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks, 
And music of kind voices ever nigh, 

And, when my last sand twinkled in the glass, 

Pass silently from men, as thou dost-nass. 



190 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Early Autumn. 

Dart Fairthorne. 

The country lanes are bright with bloom, 
And gentle airs come stealing through, 

Laden with native wild perfume 
Of balm and mint and honey-dew, 

And o'er the summer's radiant flush 

Lies early autumn's dreamy hush. 

In wayside nooks the asters gleam, 
And frost-flowers dance above the sod, 

While, lapsing by, the silent stream 
Keflects the hue of golden-rod, 

That flower which lights a dusky day 

With something of the sun-god's ray. 

The grape-vine clambers o'er the hedge 
In golden festoons; sumacs burn 

Like torches on the distant ledge, 
Or light the lane at every turn, 

And ivy riots everywhere 

In blood-red banners on the air. 

A purple mist of fragrant mint 
Borders the fences, drifting out 

Of fostering corners, and its tint, 
As half of cheer and half of doubt, 

Is like the dear, delightful haze 

Which robes the hills these autumn days. 

And strange wild growths are newly met; 

Odd things but little prized of yore, 
Like some old jewel well reset, 

Take on a worth unseen before, 
As dock, in spring a graceless weed, 
Is brilliant in its autumn seed. 



The Seasons. 191 

The cricket and the katydid 
Pipe low their sad, prophetic tune, 

Though airs pulse warm the leaves amid, 
As played around the heart of June; 

So minor strains break on the heart, 

Foretelling age as years depart. 

The sweet old story of the year 

Is spinning onward to its close, 
Yet sounds as welcome on the ear 

As in'the time of op'ning rose. 
May life for all as sweetly wane 
As comes the autumn-time again! 



An Autumn Day. 

Margaret E. Saxgster. 

Like a jewel golden-rimmed; 
Like a chalice nectar-brimmed; 
Like a strain of music low, 
Lost in some sweet long ago; 
Like a fairy story old 
By the lips of children told; 
Like a rune of ancient bard; 
Like a missal glory-starred — 
Comes upon her winsome way 
This enchanting Autumn Day. 

O'er the hills the sunlight sleeps, 
Through the vales the shadow creeps; 
On the river's stately tides 
Rich the silent splendor glides; 
Where the bowery orchards be, 
Perfumed breezes wander free; 
Where the purple clusters shine 
Through the network of the vine, 
Fragrant odors till the air; 
Beauty shineth everywhere, 



192 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

While upon her joyous way 
Comes the lovely Autumn Day. 

By the road's neglected banks 
Kise the sumac's serried ranks; 
Kagged hedge of thorn and brier 
Sudden flames with living fire; 
From the hard, unlovely sod 
Springs the glancing golden-rod; 
Light the level sunbeams sift 
Through the violet aster-drift; 
All her spears in proud array, 
Comes the bannered Autumn Day. 

Lifts the forest's lofty line, 
Sceptered oak and solemn pine; 
Shifting rainbow tints illume 
All the depths of f ronded gloom ; 
Through the vista'd aisles unroll 
Sweeping robe and trailing stole — 
"Where, superbly on her way, 
Comes the royal Autumn Day. 

Heart of mine, be glad and gay; 
Wear thy festival array; 
Sing thy song for gathered fruit; 
Why shouldst thou alone be mute, 
When the winds from sea to sea 
Ring in chords of jubilee? 
After waiting, after prayer, 
After pain and toil and care, 
After expectation long — 
Lo! the bright fulfillments throng; 
Gleam the apples through the leaves; 
Thickly stand the golden sheaves; 
Earth is all in splendor dressed; 
Queenly fair, she sits at rest, 
While the deep delicious day 
Dreams its happy life away. 



The Seasons. 193 

Faded Leaves. 
Alice Cary. 

The hills are bright with maples yet; 

But down the level land 
The beech-leaves rustle in the wind 

As dry and brown as sand. 

The clouds in bars of rusty red 

Along the hilltops glow, 
And in the still sharp air the frost 

Is like a dream of snow. 

The berries of the brier rose 

Have lost their rounded pride, 
The bitter-sweet chrysanthemums 

Are drooping heavy-eyed. 

The cricket grows more friendly now, 

The dormouse sly and wise, 
Hiding away in disgrace 

Of nature from men's eyes. 

The pigeons in black and wavering lines 

Are swinging toward the sun; 
And all the wide and withered fields 

Proclaim the summer done. 

His store of nuts and acorns now 

The squirrel hastes to gain, 
And sets his house in order for 

The winter's dreary reign. 

'Tis time to light the evening fire, 

To read good books, to sing 
The low and lovely songs that breathe 

Of the eternal spring. 



194 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Talking in Their Sleep. 
Edith M. Thomas. 

" You think I am dead," 

The apple tree said, 
" Because I have never a leaf to show — 

Because I stoop, 

And my branches droop, 
And the dull gray mosses over me grow! 
But I'm alive in trunk and shoot; 

The buds of next May 

I fold away — 
But I pity the withered grass at my feet." 

" You think I am dead," 

The quick grass said, 
" Because I have parted with stem and blade! 

But under the ground 

I am safe and sound, 
With the snow's thick blanket over me laid. 
I'm all alive, and ready to shoot 

Should the spring of the year 

Come dancing here — 
But I pity the flower without branch or root." 

" You think I am dead," 

A soft voice said, 
" Because not a branch or root I own! 

I never have died, 

But close I hide 
In a plumy seed that the wind has sown. 
Patient I wait through the long winter hours; 

You will see me again — 

I shall laugh at you then, 
Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers! '' 



The Seasons. 195 

November. 
Hartley Coleridge. 

The mellow year is hasting to its close; 

The little birds have almost sung their last; 

Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast, 
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows; 
The patient beauty of the scentless rose 

Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed 

Hangs a pale mourner for the summer past 
And makes a little summer where it grows, 
In the chill sunbeam of the faint, brief day. 

The dusky waters shudder as they shine; 
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way 

Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks confine, 
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array, 
Wrap their old limbs with somber ivy -twine. 



Winter. 

Robert Southet. 

A wrinkled, crabbed man they picture thee, 
Old "Winter, with a rugged beard as gray 

As the long moss upon the apple-tree; 

Blue-lipt, an ice-drop at thy sharp blue nose, 
Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way 
Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows. 

They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth, 

Old Winter, seated in thy great armed chair, 
Watching the children at their Christmas mirth, 

Or circled by them as thy lips declare 
Some merry jest, or tale of murder dire, 
Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night, 

Pausing at times to rouse the moldering fire, 

Or taste the old October brown and bright. 



Pieces for Every Occasion. 

December. 

Louisa Parsons Hopkins. 

Blow, northern winds ! 
To brace my fibers, knit my cords, 
To gird my soul, to fire my words, 
To do my work — for 'tis the Lord's — 

To fashion minds. 

Come, tonic blasts ! 
Arouse my courage, stir my thought, 
Give nerve and strength that as I ought 
I give my strength to what is wrought 

While duty lasts. 

Glow, arctic light ! 
And let my heart with burnished steel 
That bright magnetic flame reveal 
Which kindles purpose, faith, and zeal 

For truth and right. 

Shine, winter skies ! 
That when each brave day's work is done 
I wait in peace from sun to sun, 
To meet unshamed, through victory won, 

Your starry eyes. 



The Seasons. 197 

JANUARY. 

Kosaline E. Jones. 

Who can love you, January ? 
You are gruff and ugly — very. 

How you roar ! 
And a sorry tale you utter, 
In a maniacal mutter, 

At my door. 

Then you sob and sigh and pine, 
In a mindless, minor whine, 

And again 
A wild, grewsome ditty slips 
From your frozen, rigid lips, 

Fierce as pain. 

Like some creature strung to hate, 
Wrestling with its cruel fate, 

Conquering 
Only as you flee apace, 
Glaring back with grim, wry face, 

Mimicking. 

Hush your savage minstrelsy 
To a mellower symphony, 

Soft and deep. 
Know you no mellifluous rune ? 
No low, lulling cradle croon, 

Wooing sleep ? 

No soft breath from slumbrous isles, 
Where eternal summer smiles 

Halcyon ? 
Beat your tattoo for your raids, 
And decamp for Hadean shades. 

Pray begone ! 



198 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Fbost Work. 

Mary E. Bradley. 

No fairies left ? You need not tell me so, 
For in the night upon my window pane 

Grew wondrous things that made me surely know 
The fairies are at their old tricks again. 

wonder working spirit ! if I could 

But learn of you the secret of the snow — 
How frost is given by the breath of God, 
And where the hidden water courses flow; 

And where begotten is the dew that strings 
Her lovely pearls upon the meanest weed, 

And what sweet animating influence brings 
The blossom splendid from the trivial seed; 

Could I but ride the south wind and the north, 
And fathom all the mysteries they hold, 

See how the lightning, leaping wildly forth, 
And how the turbulent thunder is controlled, 

1 would no more be fretted by the greed 
And selfishness of men; their puny spite, 

Nor any worldly loss or cross indeed, 
My lifted soul could evermore affright. 

And wherefore now ? The laughing fairy seems 
To mock at me the spangled window through; 

And I laugh also, waking from my dreams 
To take up daily loss and cross anew. 

But with a sense of things divinely planned, 
That makes me sure I need not fear disdain, 

From One who holds the thunder in his hand, 
Yet stoops to trace the frost work on the pane. 



FLOWEKS. 



No Flowers. 

How bleak and drear the earth would seem 

Were there no flower faces 
To give the hills, the woods and fields 

Their pleasing charms and graces ! 
Could spring be spring without a flower 

To smile at April's weeping ? 
"Would robins trill so gay a song, 

Or May day be worth keeping ? 

And only think how bare the hedge 

Would look without its posies ! — 
How queer 'twould be to have a June 

That did not smell like roses ! 
No dandelions on the sward 

For childhood's busy fingers; 
No morning-glories, drinking dew, 

While golden sunrise lingers ! 

No violets, with hoods of blue, 

To nod at mild spring's coming; 
No clover blossoms — would we hear 

The busy bees' soft humming ? 
And were there no forget-me-nots, 

No buttercups or daisies, 
The children would be lost for sports, 

The poet lost for phrases. 



200 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

No flowers, with their refining power 
No wafts from yon sweet heaven — 
No tokens of a love divine 
To erring mortals given ! 
Ah, flowers your smiling faces prove 

The Source of all our pleasures 

Would not pronounce creation good 

"Without thee, floral treasures ! 



Flower Dreams. 

The sleeping earth, with thick white veil, 
By winter's hand is covered o'er; 

She waits in slumber still and pale, 
Till spring awaken her once more. 

As without care the weary child 
Nestles upon its mother's breast, 

So sleep the flowers, earth's children mild, 
Close to her frost-bound bosom pressed. 

They dream of breezes blowing fair, 
Of sunshine and of sparkling dews, 

Of fragrant odors sweet and rare, 
Of waving woods and springtime hues. 

Each dreaming flower lifts up its head 
To view the splendor far and near; 

When lo! the lovely dream has fled. 
And, verily, the spring is here! 



Flowers. 201 



Ferns. 



Ferns, beautiful ferns, 

By the side of the running waters, 
Lovely and sweet and fresh, 

As the fairest of earth-born daughters; 
Under the dreamy shade 

Of the forest's mighty branches, 
Curving their graceful shapes 

To the playful wind's advances. 

Ferns, delicate ferns, 

Neighbors of emerald mosses, 
Having no thought or care 

For worldly attainments or losses. 
Children of shadow serene, 

Fresh at the heart through the summer, 
Over the cool springs they lean, 

"Where the sunbeam is rarely a comer. 

Ferns, feathery ferns, 

Delicate, slender and frail, 
Nursed by the streamlet, whose song 

Is music for hillside and vale. 
Purity, modesty, grace, 

Emblems of these to the mind, 
Loving the quietest place 

That ever a sunbeam will find. 



The Message of the Snowdrop. 

Courage and hope, true heart ! 

Summer is coming though late the spring, 
Over the breast of the quiet mold, 

"With an emerald shimmer — a glint of gold, 
Till the leaves of the regal rose unfold 

At the rush of the swallow's wing. 



202 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Courage and hope, true heart ! 

Summer is coming though spring be late; 
Wishing is weary and waiting is long, 
But sorrow's day hath an even-song, 
And the garlands that never shall fade belong 

To the soul that is strong to wait. 



The Wild Violet. • 
Hannah F. Gould. 

Violet, violet, sparkling with dew, 

Down in the meadow-land wild where you grew, 

How did you come by the beautiful blue 

With which your soft petals unfold? 
And how do you hold up your tender young head, 
When rude, sweeping winds rush along o'er your bed, 
And dark, gloomy clouds, ranging over you, shed 

Their waters so heavy and cold? 

No one has nursed you or watched you an hour, 
Or found you a place in the garden or bower; 
And no one can yield me so lovely a flower 

As here I have found at my feet. 
Speak, my sweet violet! answer and tell 
How you have grown up and flourished so well, 
And look so contented where lowly you dwell, 

And we thus by accident meet! 

" The same careful hand," the violet said, 

11 That holds up the firmament, holds up my head; 

And He who with azure the skies overspread 

Has painted the violet blue. 
He sprinkles the stars out above me by night, 
And sends down the sunbeams at morning with light, 
To make my new coronet sparkling and bright, 

When formed of a drop of his dew." 



Flowers. 203 

" I've naught to fear from the black, heavy cloud, 

Or the breath of the tempest that comes strong and loud, 

Where, born in the lowland, and far from the crowd, 

I know and I live but for One. 
He soon forms a mantle, about me to cast, 
Of long silken grass, till the rain and the blast, 
And all that seemed threatening, have harmlessly passed 

As the clouds scud before the warm sun! " 



Daffodils. 

Robert Herricr. 
We have short time to stay as you, 

We have as short a spring; 
As quick a growth, to meet decay, 
As you or anything. 
We die 
As your hours do, and dry 
Away, 
Like to the summer's rain, 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
Ne'er to be found again. 



To the Dandelion. 

James Russell Lowell. 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 

First pledge of blithesome May, 

Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, 

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that tkey 
An Eldorado in the grass have found, 
Which not the rich earth's ample round 

May match in wealth — thou art more dear to me 

Than all the prouder summer blooms may be, ■ 



204 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 

'Tis the Spring's largess which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 
Though most hearts never understand 

To take it at God's value, but pass by 

The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; 

To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; 
The eyes thou givest me 

Are in the heart and heed not space or time; 
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 

Feels a more summerlike, warm ravishment 

In the white lily's breezy tent, 
His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 

Then think I of deep shadows in the grass, — 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 

Where, as the breezes pass, 
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,-- 

Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 
Or whiten in the wind, — or waters blue 
That from the distance sparkle through 

Some woodland gap, — and of a sky above 

Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee. 

The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, 
Who, from the dark old tree 

Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 
And I, secure in childish piety, 

Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from Heaven, which he could bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted cars, 
When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 



Flowers. 205 

Thou art the type of those meek charities 

Which make up half the nobleness of life; 
Those cheap delights the wise 

Pluck from the dusty wayside of earth's strife; 
Words of frank cheer, glances of friendly eyes, 

Love's smallest coin, which yet to some may give 

The morsel that may keep alive 
A starving heart, and teach it to behold 
Some glimpse of God where all before was cold. 

Thy winged seeds, whereof the winds take care, 
Are like the words of poet and of sage 

Which through the free Heaven fare, 
And. now unheeded, in another age 

Take root, and to the gladdened future bear 
That witness which the present would not heed, 
Bringing forth many a thought and deed, 

And, planted safely in the eternal sky, 

Bloom into stars which earth is guided by. 

Full of deep love thou art, yet not more full 

Than all thy common brethren of the ground, 
Wherein, were we not dull, 

Some words of highest wisdom might be found; 
Yet earnest faith from day to day may cull 

Some syllables, which, rightly joined, can make 

A spell to soothe life's bitterest ache, 
And ope Heaven's portals, which are near us still, 
Yea, nearer ever than the gates of 111. 

How like a prodigal doth Xature seem, 

When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! 
Thou teachest me to deem 

More sacredly of every human heart, 
Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 

Of Heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, 

Did we but pay the love we owe, 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 



206 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

But let me read thy lesson right or no, 

Of one good gift from thee my heart is sure; 
Old I shall never grow 

While thou each year dost come to keep me pure 
With legends of my childhood; ah! we owe 

Well more than half life's holiness to these 

Nature's first lowly influences, 
At thought of which the heart's glad doors burst ope, 
In dreariest days, to welcome peace and hope. 



The Daisy. 

John Mason Good. 

Not worlds on worlds in phalanx deep, 
Need we to prove that God is heie; 

The daisy, fresh from winter's sleep, 
Tells of his hand in lines as clear. 

For who but He who arched the skies, 
And pours the day-spring's living flood, 

Wondrous alike in all He tries, 
Could rear the daisy's purple bud; 

Mold its green cup, its wiry stem, 
Its fringed border nicely spin, 

And cut the gold-embossed gem 
That, set in silver, gleams within; 

And fling it, unrestrained and free, 
O'er hill, and dale, and desert sod, 

That man, where'er he walks, may see 
At every step the stamp of God! 



Flowers. 207 

Sweet Peas. 

Oh, what is the use of such pretty wings 

If one never, never can fly ? 
Pink and fine as the clouds that shine 

In the delicate morning sky. 
With a perfume sweet as the lilies keep 
Down in their vases so white and deep. 

The brown bees go humming ^aloft; 

The humming-bird soars away; 
The butterfly blows like the leaf of a rose, 

Off, off in the sunshine gay; 
While you peep over the garden wall, 
Looking so wistfully after them all. 

Are you tired of the company 

Of the balsams so dull and proud % 
Of the coxcombs bold and the marigold, 

And the spider-wort wrapped in a cloud % 
Have you not plenty of sunshine and dew, 
And crowds of gay gossips to visit you ? 

How you flutter, and reach, and climb ! 

How eager your wee faces are ! 
Aye, turned to the light till the blind old night 

Is led to the world by a star. 
Well, it surely is hard to feel one's wings, 
And still be prisoned like wingless things. 

" Tweet, tweet," then says Parson Thrush, 

Who is preaching up in a tree; 
- l Though you never may fly while the world goes by, 

Take heart, little flowers," says he; 
: ' For often, I know, to the souls that aspire 
Comes something better than their desire !" 



208 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Trailing Arbutus 

John G. Whittier. 

I wandered lone where the pine trees made 
Against the east their barricade; 

And, guided by its sweet 
Perfume, I found within a narrow dell 
The trailing spring flower, tinted like a shell, 

Amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet. 

From under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines 
Moaned ceasless overhead, the blossoming vines 

Lifted their glad surprise, 
While yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees 
His feathers, ruffled by chill sea breeze, 

And snowdrifts lingered under April skies. 

As, pausing, o'er the lowly flowers I bent, 

I thought of lives thus lowly, clogged and pent, 

Which yet find room, 
Through care and cumber, coldness and decay, 
To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day, 

And make the sad earth happier for their bloom. 



A Bunch of Cowslips. 

In the rarest of English valleys 

A motherless girl ran wild, 
And the greenness and silence and gladness 

Were soul of the soul of the child. 
The birds were her gay little brothers, 

The squirrels her sweethearts shy; 
And her heart kept tune with the raindrops, 

And sailed with the clouds in the sky; 
And angels kept coming and going, 

With beautiful things to do; 
And wherever they left a footprint, 

A cowslip or primrose grew. 



Flowers. 209 

She was taKen to live in London — 

So thick with pitiless folk — 
And she could not smile for its badness, 

And could not breathe for its smoke; 
And now as she lay on her pallet, 

Too weary and weak to rise, 
A smile of ineffable longing 

Brought dews to her faded eyes; 
" Oh, me ! for a yellow cowslip, 

A pale little primrose dear ! 
Won't some kind angel remember, 

And pluck one and bring it here ?" 

They brought her a bunch of cowslips; 

She took them with fingers weak, 
And kissed them, and stroked them, and loved them, 

And laid them against her cheek. 
" It was kind of the angels to send them; 

And now I'm too tired to pray, 
If God looks down at the cowslips, 

He'll know what I want to say. n 
They buried them in her bosom; 

And when she shall wake and rise, 
Why may not the flowers be quickened, 

And bloom in her happy skies ? 



xvAgged Sailors. 

O ragged, ragged Sailors ! 

I pray you answer me: 
What may you all be doing 

So far away from sea ? 

" We're loitering by the roadsides, 
We're lingering on the hills, 
To talk with pretty Daisies 
In stiff and snowy frills. 



210 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

" And though our blue be ragged, 
Right welcome still are we 
To tell the nodding lasses 
Long tales about the sea !" 



Roses. 



It is summer, says a fairy, 
Bring me tissue light and airy; 
Bring me colors of the rarest, 
Search the rainbow for the fairest 
Sea-shell, pink and sunny yellow, 
Kingly crimson, deep and mellow; 
Faint red in Aurora beaming, 
And the white in pure pearl gleaming. 

Bring me diamonds from the spaces 
Where the air the earth embraces; 
Bring me gold-dust by divining 
Where the humming-bird is mining; 
Bring me sweets as rich as may be 
From the kisses of a baby; 
With an art no fay discloses 
I am going to make some roses. 



GOLDEN-BOD. 

Lucy Larcom. 

Midsummer music in the grass — 
The cricket and the grasshopper; 

White daisies and red clover pass; 
The caterpillar trails her fur 

After the languid butterfly; 

But green and spring-like is the sod 



Flowers. 211 

Where autumn's earliest lamps I spy — 
The tapers of the golden-rod. 

This flower is fuller of the sun 

Than any our pale North can show; 
It has the heart of August won, 

And scatters wide the warmth and glow 
Kindled at summer's mid-noon blaze, 

Where gentians of September bloom 
Along October's leaf -strewn ways, 

And through November's paths of gloom. 

As lavish of its golden light 

As sunshine's self, this blossom is; 
Its starry chandeliers burn bright 

All day; and have you noted this— 
A perfect sun in every flower, — 

Ten thousand thousand fairy suns, 
Raying from new disks hour by hour, 

As up the stalk the life- flash runs ? 

Because its myriad glimmering plumes 

Like a great army's stir and wave, 
Because its gold in billows blooms, 

The poor man's barren walks to lave; 
Because its sun-shaped blossoms show 

How souls receive the light of God, 
And unto earth give back that glow — 

I thank Him for the golden-rod. 



Oh, Golden-Rod. 

W. L. Jaquith. 

The pale primrose her petals fain would hide 
When thou dost stand anear, oh, Golden-rod! 

And all the radiant sisterhood beside, 
Whatever blooms deck autumn's quiet sod — 



212 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Asters in white and royal purple brave, 
Crimson gerardias by the wayside sown, 

Gentians with hue the dear sky stooped and gave — 
All yield to thee thy due, the season's crown. 

Slight was the prelude to thy regal state; 

Who could divine the splendid mystery, 
Or read the hidden promise of thy fate 

From the first pages of thy history? 
Thy tiny buds in formless masses cast, 

Obedient to the voice of Nature old, 
Found each its place in serried ranks at last, 
While burning noontides kissed the green to gold. 

Even so thy dower of shining stars was given, 

Thickset o'er all thy branching, bending lines; 
Yet further still has life within thee striven 

To reach the destiny thy doom assigns; 
For clustered stars have burned to molten gold, 

And with full hands thou hold'st the treasure out, 
While o'er thee hovers many a plunderer bold, 

Wanton in boisterous glee and wassail rout. 

In gracious mood, with highest joy elate, 

Thou flingest golden largess everywhere, 
With lavish hands, as fits thy royal state, — 

Thy generous bounty fills the autumn air; 
Yet while I praise, oh, Golden-rod, thy pride, 

I know such splendor well I could resign 
If in thy place the violet would hide, 

Or summer's roses once again were mine. 

Yet still I mourn that autumn wanes apace 

And soon thou must resign thy golden crown; 
That soon thine own pale ghost shall fill thy place, 

And the bare fields stretch desolate and brown; 
When fast before the wind the dead leaves fly, 

When skies are dark and barren woods are drear, 
Surely shall come the unavailing cry, 

" Oh, that the vanished Golden-rod were here! " 



Flowers. 213 

Lord of the seasons' bounty, hear my prayer! 

Grant in thy mercy dear this simple grace — 
Clear-seeing eyes to find the good and fair, 

A heart that knows thy hand in every place, 
That finds the present gift sufficient store 

For daily need and daily happiness, 
Nor ever counts the wished-for blessing more, 

The living joy, the certain sweetness, less. 



A September Violet. 

We were sitting idly gazing on the varied scene before us, 

Overhead a tree with mellow fruit was lowly bending down, 
Near us vines with juicy clusters of the luscious grapes were 
hanging, 
And we heard the ripe nuts dropping on the dead leases 
sere and brown. 
The bitter-sweets were twining round the cedars lithe and 
slender; 
The cardinal flowers bloomed gayly in the shallow, rippling 
brook, 
While the asters, royal purple, and all the garnered sunshine 
Of the golden-rod was brightening every walk and wayside 
nook. 

Soft, white clouds with filmy mantles half concealed the sun's 
bright presence, 
While we chatted of the splendor that, though brilliant, 
always grieves; 
And we turned from autumn's beauty to the child that flitted 
near us, 
Now catching at the sunbeams, now dancing with the leaves. 
As we thought, for her the landscape has no shade of sadness 
o'er it, 
No token of decay in its grandeur can she see, 



214 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Through the aftermath she hastened with one dimpled hand 
behind her, 
And her bonny black eyes shining with a merry, childish 
glee. 

" I have something, oh, so pretty! " rang the eager voice with 
gladness ; 
" Something, oh, so very pretty! you must guess what I 
have found." 
" Is it a bit of rock moss-covered, or a stone as clear as crystal, 
Or a bird's nest quaintly woven that has fallen to the 
ground? 
Well, perhaps, a snowy fern-leaf whitened by the frost's cool 
kisses. 
.No? well then, dear, you must tell us." Then she held a 
violet up. 
What a tender, sweet reminder of the early vanished spring- 
time, 
Was the faint, delicious odor of its sapphire-tinted cup! 

What had tempted this wee blossom from its bed among the 
grasses? 
Had the south wind whispered falsely that again it was the 
May? 
Had its little heart grown weary waiting ever in the shadow? 
Was it glad to yield its small life just to once more see the 
day? 
Who could tell us? Not the floweret, nestling in the dark 
brown tress, 
Where amidst her curls we placed it with a tender, mute 
caress; 
"Little one," we whispered softly, as we wandered slowly 
homeward, 
" In thy autumn, too, may tokens of the spring be found to 
bless." 



Flowers. 215 

The Golden Flower. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

When Advent dawns with lessening days, 

While Earth awaits the angels' hymn; 
When bare as branching coral sways 

In whistling winds each leafless limb; 
When spring is but a spendthrift's dream, 

And summer's wealth a wasted dower, 
Nor dews nor sunshine may redeem, — 

Then autumn coins his Golden Flower. 

Soft was the violet's vernal hue, 

Fresh was the rose's morning red, 
Full-orbed the stately dahlia grew, — 

All gone! their short-lived splendors shed. 
The shadows, lengthening, stretch at noon; 

The fields are stripped, the groves are dumb; 
The frost- flowers greet the icy moon,— 

Then blooms the bright chrysanthemum. - 

The stiffening turf is white with snow, 

Yet still its radiant disks are seen 
When soon the hallowed morn will show 

The wreath and cross of Christmas green; 
As if in autumn's dying days 

It heard the heavenly song afar, 
And opened all its glowing rays, 

The herald lamp of Bethlehem's star. 

Orphan of summer, kindly sent 

To cheer the fading year's decline, 
In all that pitying Heaven has lent 

No fairer pledge of hope than thine. 
Yes! June lies hid beneath the snow, 

And winter's unborn heir shall claim 
For every seed that sleeps below 

A spark that kindles into flame. 



216 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Thy smile the scowl of winter braves, 

Last of the bright-robed, flowery train, 
Soft sighing o'er the garden graves, 

"Farewell! farewell! we meet again! " 
So may life's chill November bring 

Hope's Golden Flower, the last of all, 
Before we hear the angels sing 

Where blossoms never fade and fall! 



Chrysanthemums. 

Mrs. Mary E. Dodge. 

Bravest of brave sweet blossoms in all of the garden-row; 
Fair, when most of the flowers shrink from the winds that 

blow; 
Gay, when the dismal north wind wails through the tree-tops 

dumb; 
Breathing a breath of gladness is the brave Chrysanthemum. 

One is of tawny color; another of cardinal glow, 

As the cheek of a sun-warmed maiden and reddest of wine 

will show; 
While some are of gorgeous yellow, like gold in a monarch's 

crown, 
And some of a royal purple, dusted with softest down. 

Some of a creamy whiteness, touched to a rosy blush, 

As the snow of the lovely Jungfrau glows with a sunset flu3h; 

Some flame at the heart, pearl-petaled; and lavender-hued 

are some; 
Yet each of them, crude or cultured, just a brave Chrysanthe' 

mum. 



LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY. 



Abraham Lincoln's Place in History. 

Bishop Johx P. Newman. 

Human glory is often fickle as the winds, and 
transient as a summer day; but Abraham Lincoln's 
place in history is assured. All the symbols of this 
world's admiration are his. He is embalmed in song, 
recorded in history, eulogized in panegyric, cast in 
bronze, sculptured in marble, painted on canvas, en- 
shrined in the hearts of his countrymen, and lives in 
the memories of mankind. Some men are brilliant in 
their times, but their words and deeds are of little worth 
to history; but his mission was as large as his country, 
vast as humanity, enduring as time. Xo greater 
thought can ever enter the human mind than obedi- 
ence to law and freedom for all. Some men are not 
honored by their contemporaries, and die neglected. 
Here is one more honored than any other man while 
living, more revered when dying, and destined to be 
loved to the last syllable of recorded time. He has 
this threefold greatness, — great in life, great in death, 
great in the history of the world. Lincoln will grow 
upon the attention and affections of posterity, because 
he saved the life of the greatest nation, whose ever 
widening influence is to bless humanity. Measured by 



218 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

this standard, Lincoln shall live in history from age 
to age. 

Great men appear in groups, and in groups they 
disappear from the vision of the world; but we do not 
love or hate men in groups. We speak of Gutenberg 
and his coadjutors, of Washington and his generals, 
of Lincoln and his cabinet; but when the day of judg- 
ment comes, we crown the inventor of printing, we 
place the laurel on the brow of the father of his coun- 
try, and the chaplet of renown upon the head of the 
saviour of the Eepublic. 

Some men are great from the littleness of their sur- 
roundings, but he is only great who is great amid 
greatness. Lincoln had great associates, — Seward, the 
sagacious diplomatist; Chase, the eminent financier; 
Stanton, the incomparable Secretary of War: with 
illustrious senators and soldiers. Neither could take 
his part nor fill his position. And the same law of the 
coming and going of great men is true of our own day. 
In piping times of peace, genius is not aflame, and true 
greatness is not apparent; but when the crisis comes, 
then God lifts the curtain from obscurity and reveals 
the man for the hour. 

Lincoln stands forth on the page of history, unique 
in his character and majestic in his individuality. 
Like Milton's angel, he was an original conception. 
He was raised up for his times. He was a leader of lead- 
ers. By instinct the common heart trusted in hi iu. lie 
was of the people and for the people. He had been poor 
and laborious; but greatness did not change the tone 
of his spirit, or lessen the sympathies of his nature. 
His character was strangely symmetrical. He was 
temperate, without austerity; brave, without rashness; 



Lincoln 9 s Birthday. 219 

constant, without obstinacy. He put caution against 
hope, that it might not be premature; and hope 
against caution, that it might not yield to dread or 
danger. His marvelous hopefulness never betrayed 
him into impracticable measures. His love of justice 
was only equaled by his delight in compassion. His 
regard for personal honor was only excelled by 
love of country. His self-abnegation found its highest 
expression in the public good. His integrity was never 
questioned. His honesty was above suspicion. He 
was more solid than brilliant; his judgment dominated 
his imagination; his ambition was subject to his 
modesty, and his love of justice held the mastery over 
all personal considerations. Not excepting Washing- 
ton, who inherited wealth and high social position, 
Lincoln is the fullest representative American in our 
national annals. He had touched every round in the 
human ladder. He illustrated the possibilities of our 
citizenship. 'We are not ashamed of his humble origin. 
We are proud of his greatness. 

We are to judge men by their surroundings, and 
measure their greatness by the difficulties which they 
surmounted. Every age has its heroes, every crisis its 
master. Lincoln came into power in the largest and 
most violent political convulsion known to history. 
In nothing is the sagacity and might of Lincoln's 
statesmanship more apparent than in his determina- 
tion to save the Union of these States. This was the 
objective point of his administration. He denied 
State Sovereignty as paramount to National Sov- 
ereignty. States have their rights and their obliga- 
tions; and their chief obligation is to remain in the 
Union. Some political philanthropists clamored for 



220 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

the overthrow of slavery, and advocated the dissolu- 
tion of the Union rather than live in a country under 
whose government slavery was tolerated. But Lincoln 
was a wiser and a better philanthropist than they. He 
would have the Union, with or without slavery. He 
preferred it without, and his preference prevailed. 
How incomparably worse would have been the condition 
of the slave in a Confederacy with a living slave for 
its corner stone than in the Union of the States! 
Time has vindicated the character of his statesman- 
ship, that to preserve the Union was to save this great 
nation for human liberty, and thereby advance the 
emancipated slave to education, thrift, and political 
equality. 



Lincoln. 



James Russell Lowell. 

Life may be given in many ways, 
And loyalty to truth be sealed 
As bravely in the closet as the field, 

So bountiful is fate; 

But then to stand beside her 

When craven churls deride her, 
To front a lie in arms and not to yield— 

This shows, methinks, God's plan 

And measure of a stalwart man, 

Limbed like the old heroic breeds, 

Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth, 

Not forced to frame excuses for his birth, 
Fed from within with all the strength he needs. 

Sucli was he, our Martyr-Chief, 

Whom late the Nation he had led, 

With ashes on her head, 



Lincoln's Birthday. 221 

Wept with the passion of an angry grief: 
Forgive me, if from present things I turn 
To speak what in my heart will beat and burn, 
And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. 

Nature, they say, doth dote, 

And cannot make a man 

Save on some worn-out plan, 

Eepeating us by rote; 
For him her Old- World molds aside she threw, 

And choosing sweet clay from the breast 

Of the inexhausted West, 
With stuff untainted shaped a hero new, 
Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. 

How beautiful to see 
Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, 
Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead; 
One whose meek flock the people joyed to be, 

Not lured by any cheat of birth, 

But by his clear-grained human w r orth, 
And brave old wisdom of sincerity! 

They knew that outward grace is dust; 

They could not choose but trust 
In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, 

And supple-tempered will 
That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. 

His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind, 

Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, 

A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind; 

Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined. 

Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, 
Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. 

Nothing of Europe here, 
Or, then, of Europe fronting morn ward still; 

Ere any name of Serf and Peer 

Could Nature's equal scheme deface 
And thwart her gentle will; 

Here was a type of the true elder race, 
And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face. 



222 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

I praise him not; it were too late; 
And some innative weakness there must be 
In him who condescends to victory 
Such as the present gives, and cannot wait, 

Safe in himself as in a fate. 

So always firmly he; 

He knew to bide his time, 

And can his fame abide, 
Still patient in his simple faith sublime, 

Till the wise years decide. 

Great captains, w 7 ith their guns and drums, 

Disturb our judgment for the hour, 

But at last silence comes; 

These all are gone, and, standing like a tower, 

Our children shall behold his fame, 

The kindly, earnest, brave, foreseeing man, 
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, 

New birth of our new soil, the first American 



The Religious Character of President Lincoln. 

From the funeral address delivered on the occasion of the 
obsequies of President Lincoln, April 19, 1806, by the Kev. P. I). 
Gurley, D. D., who was pastor of the Presbyterian Church at 
Washington, which Mr. Lincoln attended. 

Probably no man since the days of Washington 
was ever so deeply enshrined in the hearts of the Amer- 
ican people as Abraham Lincoln. Nor was it a mis- 
taken confidence and love. He deserved it all. He 
deserved it by his character, by the whole tenor, tone, 
and spirit of his life. He w r as simple, sincere, plain, 
honest, truthful, just, benevolent, and kind. His per- 
ceptions were quick and clear, his judgments calm and 
accurate, purposes good and pure beyond all question. 
Always and everywhere he aimed both to the right and 



Lincoln's Birthday. 223 

to do right. His integrity was all-pervading, all-con- 
trolling, and incorruptible. As the chief magistrate 
of a great and imperiled people, he rose to the dignity 
and momentousness of the occasion. He saw his duty, 
and he determined to do his whole duty, seeking the 
guidance and leaning upon the arm of Him of whom 
it is written, " He giveth power to the faint, and to 
them that have no might he increaseth strength." 

I speak what I know when I affirm that His 
guidance was the prop on which he humbly and habit- 
ually leaned. It was the best hope he had for himself 
and his country. When he was leaving his home in 
Illinois, and coming to this city to take his seat in the 
Executive Chair of a disturbed and troubled nation, 
he said to the old and tried friends who gathered tear- 
fully around him and bade him farewell, " I leave you 
with this request, — pray for me." They did pray for 
him, and millions of others prayed for him. Nor did 
they pray in vain. Their prayers were heard. The 
answer shines forth with a heavenly radiance in the 
whole course and tenor of his administration, from its 
commencement to its close. 

God raised him up for a great and glorious mission. 
He furnished him for his work and aided him in its ac- 
complishment. He gave him strength of mind, honesty 
of heart, and purity and pertinacity of purpose. In ad- 
dition to these He gave him also a calm and abiding 
confidence in an overruling Providence, and in the 
ultimate triumph of truth and righteousness through 
the power and blessing of God. This confidence 
strengthened him in his hours of anxiety and toil, 
and inspired him with a calm and cheerful hope when 
others were despondent. 



224 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Never shall J. forget the emphasis and the deep 
emotion with which, in this very room, he said to a 
company of clergymen, who had called to pay him 
their respects, in the darkest hour of our civil conflict, 
" Gentlemen, my hope of success in this great and 
terrible struggle rests on that immutable foundation, 
the justice and goodness of God. Even now, when the 
events seem most threatening, and the prospects dark, 
I still hope that, in some way which man cannot see, 
all will be well in the end, and that as our cause is 
just, God is on our side." 

Such was his sublime and holy faith. It was an 
anchor to his soul both sure and steadfast. It made 
him firm and strong. It emboldened him in the 
rugged and perilous pathway of duty. It made him 
valiant for the right, for the cause of God and human- 
ity. It held him in steady, patient, and unswerving 
adherence to a policy which he thought, and which we 
all now think, both God and humanity required him 
to adopt. 

We admired his child-like simplicity, his freedom 
from guile and deceit, his stanch and sterling integrity, 
his kind and forgiving temper, and his persistent, self- 
sacrificing devotion to all the duties of his eminent 
position. We admired his readiness to hear and con- 
sider the cause of the poor, the humble, the suffering, 
and the oppressed, and his readiness to spend and be 
spent for the attainment of that great triumph, the 
blessed fruits of which shall be as wide-spreading as 
the earth, and as enduring as the sun. 

All these things commanded the admiration of the 
world, and stamped upon his life and character the 
unmistakable impress of true greatness. More sublime 



Lincoln's Birthday. 225 

than all these, more holy and beautiful, was his abid- 
ing confidence in God, and in the final triumph of 
truth and righteousness through him and for his sake. 
The friends of liberty and the Union will repair to 
his consecrated grave, through ages yet to come, to 
pronounce the memory of its occupant blessed, and 
to gather from his ashes and the rehearsal of his 
virtues fresh incentives to patriotism, and there renew 
their vows of fidelity to their country and their God. 



Lincoln's Birthday. 

Ida Vose "Woodbury. 

Again thy birthday dawns, man beloved, 
Dawns on the land thy blood was shed to save, 

And hearts of millions, by one impulse moved, 
Bow and fresh laurels lay upon thy grave. 

The years but add new luster to thy glory, 
And watchmen on the heights of vision see 

Keflected in thy life the old, old story, 
The story of the Man of Galilee. 

We see in thee the image of Him kneeling 
Before the close-shut tomb, and at the word 

Come forth," from out the blackness long concealing 
There rose a man; clearly again was heard 

The Master's voice, and then, his cerements broken, 
Friends of the dead a living brother see; 

Thou, at the tomb where millions lay, hast spoken: 
"Loose him and let him go! "—the slave was free. 

And in the man so long in thraldom hidden 
We see the likeness of the Father's face, 



226 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Clod changed to soul; by thy atonement bidden, 
We hasten to the uplift of a race. 

Spirit of Lincoln! Summon all thy loyal; 

Nerve them to follow where thy feet have trod, 
To prove, by voice as clear and deed as royal, 

Man's brotherhood in our one Father — God. 



Abraham Lincoln, the Martyr. 

Henry Ward Beecher. 

Republican institutions have been vindicated in 
this experience as they never were before; and the 
whole history of the last four years, rounded up by 
this cruel stroke, seems, in the providence of God, to 
have been clothed, now, with an illustration, with a 
sympathy, with an aptness, and w r ith a significance, 
such as we never could have expected nor imagined. 
God, I think, has said, by the voice of this event, to 
all nations of the earth: "Republican liberty, based 
upon true Christianity, is firm as the foundation of 
the globe." 

Even he who now sleeps has, by this event, been 
clothed with new influence. Dead, he speaks to men 
who now willingly hear what before they refused to 
listen to. Now his simple and weighty words will be 
gathered like those of Washington, and your children 
and your children's children shall be taught to ponder 
the simplicity and deep wisdom of utterances which, 
in their time, passed, in party heat, as idle words. 
Men will receive a new impulse of patriotism for his 
sake, and will guard with zeal the whole country which 
he loved so well. I swear you, on the altar of his 



Lincoln's Birthday^ 227 

memory, to be more faithful to the country for which 
he has perished. They will, as they follow his hearse, 
swear a new hatred to that slavery against which he 
warred, and which, in vanquishing him, has made him 
a martyr and conqueror. I swear you by the memory 
of this martyr to hate slavery with an unappeasable 
hatred. They will admire and imitate the firmness 
of this man, his inflexible conscience for the right; 
and yet his gentleness, as tender as a woman's, his 
moderation of spirit, which not all the heat of party 
could inflame, nor all 'the jars and disturbances of this 
country shake out of its place. I swear you to an 
emulation of his justice, his moderation, and his 
mercy. 

You I can comfort; but how can I speak to that 
twilight million to whom his name was as the name 
of an angel of God? There will be wailing in places 
which no minister shall be able to reach. When, in 
hovel and in cot, in wood and in wilderness, in the 
field throughout the South, the dusky children, who 
looked upon him as that Moses whom God sent before 
them to lead them out of the land of bondage, learn 
that he has fallen, who shall comfort them? thou 
Shepherd of Israel, that didst comfort Thy people of 
old, to Thy care we commit the helpless, the long- 
wronged, and grieved. 

And now the martyr is moving in triumphal march, 
mightier than when alive. The nation rises up at 
every stage of his coming. Cities and States are his 
pall-bearers, and the cannon beats the hours with 
solemn progression. Dead, dead, dead, he yet speak- 
eth. Is Washington dead? Is Hampden dead? Is 
David dead? Is anv man that ever was fit to live 



228 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

dead? Disenthralled of flesh, and risen in the unob- 
structed sphere where passion never comes, he begins 
his illimitable work. His life now is grafted upon the 
infinite, and will be fruitful as no earthly life can be. 
Pass on, thou that hast overcome! 

Your sorrows, people! are his peace. Your bells, 
and bands, and muffled drums sound triumph in his 
ear. Wail and weep here! Pass on! 

Four years ago, Illinois! we took from your midst 
an untried man, and from among the people. We re- 
turn him to you a mighty conqueror. Not thine any 
more, but the nation's; not ours, but the world's. Give 
him place, ye prairies! 

In the midst of this great continent his dust shall 
rest, a sacred treasure to myriads who shall pilgrim 
to that shrine to kindle anew their zeal and patriotism. 
Ye winds that move over the mighty places of the 
West, chant his requiem! Ye people, behold a martyr 
whose blood, as so many articulate words, pleads for 
fidelity, for law, for liberty! 



Abraham Lincoln. 

James A. Garfield. 

In the great drama of the rebellion there were two 
acts. The first was the war. witli its battles and 
sieges, its victories and defeats, its sufferings and tears. 
Just as the curtain was lifting on the second and final 
act, the restoration of peace and liberty, the evil 
spirit of the rebellion, in the fury of despair, nerved 
and directed the hand of an assassin to strike down 
the chief character in both. It was no one man who 



Lincoln's Birthday. 229 

killed Abraham Lincoln; it was the embodied spirit 
of treason and slavery, inspired with fearful and 
despairing hate, that struck him down in the moment 
of the nation's supremest joy. 

Sir, there are times in the history of men and na- 
tions when they stand so near the veil that separates 
mortals from the immortals, time from eternity, and 
men from God that they can almost hear the beatings 
and pulsations of the heart of the Infinite. Through 
such a time has this nation passed. 

When two hundred and fifty thousand brave spirits 
passed from the field of honor, through that thin veil, 
to the presence of God, and when at last its parting 
folds admitted the martyr President to the company 
of those dead heroes of the Republic, the nation stood 
so near the veil that the whispers of God were heard 
by the children of men. Awe-stricken by his voice, 
the American people knelt in tearful reverence and 
made a solemn covenant with him and with each other 
that this nation should be saved from its enemies, that 
all its glories should be restored, and, on the ruins of 
slavery and treason, the temples of freedom and jus- 
tice should be built, and should survive forever. 

It remains for us, consecrated by that great event 
and under a covenant with God, to keep that faith, to 
go forward in the great work until it shall be com- 
pleted. Following the lead of that great man, and 
obeying the high behests of God, let us remember that: 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call 

retreat ; 
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat ; 
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be jubilant, my feet! 
Our God is marching,' on. 



230 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Address of Abraham Lincoln 

At the Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery. 

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought 
forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in 
liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men 
are created free and equal. Xow we are engaged in a 
great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any na- 
tion so conceived or so dedicated, can long endure. We 
are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come 
to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting 
place for those who here gave their lives that that 
nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper 
that we should do this. But in a larger sense we can- 
not dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow, 
this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who 
struggled here, have consecrated it far above our 
power to add or detract. The world will little note, 
nor long remember, what we say here, but it can 
never forget what they did hered/It is for us. the 
living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished 
work which they who fought here have thus far so 
nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedi- 
cated to the great task remaining before us, that from 
these honored dead we take increased devotion to that 
cause for which they gave the last full measure of 
devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead 
shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under 
God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that the 
government of the people, by the people, and for 
the people, shall not perish from the earth. 



WASHINGTON'S BIETHDAY. 



WASHINGTON'S FAME. 

ASHER BOBBINS. 

It is the peculiar good fortune of this country to 
have given birth to a citizen whose name everywhere 
produces a sentiment of regard for his country itself. 
In other countries, whenever and wherever this is 
spoken of to be praised, it is called the country of 
Washington. I believe there is no people, civilized 
or savage, in any place however remote, where the 
name of Washington has not been heard, and where 
it is not respected with the fondest admiration. We 
are told that the Arab of the desert talks of Wash- 
ington in his tent, and that his name is familiar to 
the wandering Scythian. He seems, indeed, to be the 
delight of human kind, as their beau ideal of human 
nature. No American, in any part of the world, but 
has found the regard for himself increased by his con- 
nection with Washington, as his fellow-countryman; 
and who has not felt a pride, and has occasion to exult, 
in the fortunate connection? 

A century and more has now passed away since 
he came upon the stage, and his fame first broke upon 
the world; for it broke like the blaze of day from the 
rising sun — almost as sudden, and seemingly as uni- 
versal. The eventful period since that era has teemed 



232 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

with great men, who have crossed the scene and 
passed off. Some of them have arrested great atten- 
tion — very great. Still Washington retains his pre- 
eminent place in the minds of men; still his peerless 
name is cherished by them in the same freshness of 
delight as in the morn of its glory. History will 
keep a record of his fame; but history is not necessary 
to perpetuate it. In regions where history is not read, 
where letters are unknown, it lives, and will go down 
from age to age, in all future time, in their tradi- 
tionary lore. Who would exchange this fame, to com- 
mon inheritance of our country, for the fame of any 
individual which any country of any time can boast? 
I would not; with my sentiments I could not. 



The Twenty-Second of February. 

William Cullen Bryant. 

Pale is the February sky, 

And brief the mid-day's sunny hours; 
The wind-swept forest seems to sigh 

For the sweet time of leaves and flowers. 

Yet has no month a prouder day, 
Not even when the summer broods 

O'er meadows in their fresh array, 
Or autumn tints the glowing woods. 

For this chill season now again 
Brings, in its annual round, the morn 

When, greatest of the sons of men, 
Our glorious Washington was born. 

Lo, where, beneath an icy shield, 
Calmly the mighty Hudson flows ! 



Washington's Birthday. 233 

By snow-clad fell and frozen field, 
Broadening, the lordly river goes. 

The wildest storm that sweeps through space, 

And rends the oak with sudden force, 
Can raise no ripple on his face, 

Or slacken his majestic course. 

Thus, 'mid the wreck of thrones, shall live 
Unmarred, undimmed, our hero's fame, 

And years succeeding years shall give 
Increase of honors to his name. 



Washington. 

We are met to testify our regard for him whose 
name is intimately blended with whatever belongs 
most essentially to the prosperity, the liberty, the free 
institutions, and the renown of our country. That 
name was a power to rally a nation in the hour of 
thick-thronging public disasters and calamities; that 
name shone amid the storm of war, a beacon light to 
cheer and guide the country's friends; its name, too, 
like a meteor, to repel her foes. That name in the 
days of peace was a loadstone, attracting to itself a 
whole people's confidence, a whole people's love, and 
the whole world's respect; that name, descending with 
all time, spread over the whole earth and uttered in 
all the languages belonging to the tribes and races of 
men, will forever be pronounced with affectionate 
gratitude by everyone in whose breast there shall arise 
an aspiration for human rights and human liberty. 

Washington stands at the commencement of a new 
era as well as at the head of the New World. A cen- 



231 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

tury from the birth of Washington has changed the 
world. The country of Washington has been the 
theater on which a great part of that change has been 
wrought, and .Washington himself a principal agent by 
which it has been accomplished. His age and his 
country are equally full of wonders, and of both he is 
the chief. 

It is the spirit of human freedom, the new elevation 
of individual man, in his moral, social, and political 
character, leading the whole long train of other im- 
provements, which has most remarkably distinguished 
the era. Society has assumed a new character; it has 
raised itself from beneath governments to a participa- 
tion in governments; it has mixed moral and political 
objects with the daily pursuits of individual men, and, 
with a freedom and strength before altogether un- 
known, it has applied to these objects the whole power 
of the human understanding. It has been the era, in 
short, when the social principle has triumphed over 
the feudal principle; when society has maintained its 
rights against military power, and established on 
foundations never hereafter to be shaken its com- 
petency to govern itself. 



WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 
Margaret E. Sangster. 

'Tis splendid to live so grandly 
That, long after you are gone, 

The things you did are remembered, 
And recounted under the sun; 



Washington's Birthday. 235 

To live so bravely and purely 

That a nation stops on its way, 
And once a year, with banner and drum, 

Keeps its thought of your natal day. 

'Tis splendid to have a record 

So white and free from stain 
That, held to the light, it shows no blot, 

Though tested and tried amain; 
That age to age forever 

Eepeats its story of love, 
And your birthday lives in a nation's heart, 

All other days above. 

And this is Washington's glory, 

A steadfast soul and true, 
"Who stood for his country's honor 

When his country's days were few. 
And now, when its days are many, 

And its flag of stars is flung 
To the breeze in defiant challenge, 

His name is on every tongue. 

Yes, it's splendid to live so bravely, 

To be so great and strong, 
That your memory is ever a tocsin 

To rally the foes of wrong: 
To live so proudly and purely 

That your people pause in their way, 
And year by year, with banner and drum, 

Keep the thought of your natal day. 



The Birthday of Washington. 
Kufus Choate. 

The birthday of the " Father of his Country " ! 
May it ever be freshly remembered by American 



236 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

hearts! May it ever rewaken in them a filial venera- 
tion of his memory; ever rekindle the fires of patriotic 
regard to the country which he loved so well; to which 
he gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy 
during the perilous period of the early Indian warfare; 
to which he devoted his life in the maturity of his 
powers, in the field; to which he again offered the 
counsels of his wisdom and his experience, as president 
of the convention that framed our Constitution; 
which he guided and directed from the chair of State, 
and for which the last prayer of his earthly supplica- 
tion was offered up when it came the moment for him 
so well, and so grandly, and so calmly, to die! He was 
the first man of the time in which he grew. His mem- 
ory is first and most sacred in our love; and ever here- 
after till the last drop of blood shall freeze in the last 
American heart, his name shall be a spell of power 
and of might. 

Yes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast, 
felicity which no man can share with him. It was the 
daily beauty and towering, matchless glory of his life 
which enabled him to create his country, and, at the 
same time, secure an undying love and regard from 
the whole American people. " The first in the hearts 
of his countr}nnen! " Yes, first! Undoubtedly there 
were brave and wise and good men before his day, in 
every colony. But the American nation, as a nation, 
I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the 
first love of that young America was Washington. The 
first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath 
spoke it. It is still her proud ejaculation; and it will 
be the last gasp of her expiring life! 

Yes! Others of our great men have been appre- 



Washington's Birthday. 23? 

ciated — many admired by all. But him we love. Him 
we all love. About and around him we call up no dis- 
sentient and discordant and dissatisfied elements, no 
sectional prejudice nor bias, no party, no creed, no 
dogma of politics. Xone of these shall assail him. 
Yes! When the storm of battle blows darkest and 
rages highest, the name of Washington shall nerve 
every American arm, and cheer every American heart. 
It shall relume that Promethean fire, that sublime 
fire of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which 
his words have commended, which his example has 
consecrated. In the words of Lord Byron: 

' ' "Where may the wearied eye repose 
When gazing on the great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows 
Nor despicable state ? 
Yes, — one, the first, the last, the best, 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 
Whom envy dared not hate, 
Bequeathed the name of Washington. 
To make man blush, there was but one.*' 



Otik Washington. 

Eliza Y\\ Durblx. 

sox of Virginia, thy niem'ry divine 

Forever will halo this country of thine. 

Not hero alone in the battle's wild strife, 

But hero in ev'ry detail of thy life. 

So noble, unselfish, heroic, and true, 

A God-given gift to thy country were you; 

And lovingly, tenderly guarding thy shrine, 

Columbia points proudly, and says: " He is mine." 



238 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Thy courage upheld us, thy judgment sustained, 
Thy spirit stood proof when discouragement reigned, 
Thy justice unerring all bias withstood, 
Thy thought never self, but thy loved country's good. 
And thy country will never, till time is no more, 
Cease to cherish the sleeper on yon river's shore; 
And ev'ry fair daughter and ev'ry brave son 
She will tell of the greatness of her Washington. 

O hero immortal ! O spirit divine ! 

What glory eternal, what homage is thine ! 

Forever increasing will be thy renown, 

With the stars of Columbia that gleam in thy crown. 

The God who guards liberty gave thee to earth, 

Forever we'll honor the heaven-sent birth. 

E'en heaven itself has one gladness the more 

That our hands shall clasp thine on eternity's shore. 

Then sleep, sweetly sleep, by the river's calm run; 
Thy fame will live on in the land thou hast won; 
To Potomac's soft music then slumber serene, 
The spirit of freedom will keep the spot green; 
And so long as time echoes the hour of thy birth, 
We will pay loving tribute and praise to thy worth, 
And pledge to keep spotless the freedom you gave, 
And the land that is hallowed by Washington's grave. 



The Faith of Washington. 
Frederic E. Coudert. 

We are gathered here to-day in honor of the 
founder of our nation, or, as we prefer in filial rever- 
ence to call him, the Father of our Country. Our 
jealous love for him will allow no other statue a place 
on the same pedestal; none other shall stand as a rival 



Washington 9 s Birthday, 239 

in his claim to our devotion. For his light shone in 
the dark days as the only star that meant hope; his 
steadfastness kept the tottering young nation from 
despair; his genius and serenity, his faith and his cour- 
age, inspired and strengthened those who were fight- 
ing the great fight. But for him and his inspiration, 
who will venture to say that the freemen of to-day 
would not have been the defeated rebels of the past? 
Who will study the fearful odds and dispute his 
claim to our gratitude so long as we remain one peo- 
ple? Overwhelming odds tested his genius, treason 
wrung his heart, jealousies and rivalries baffled his 
plans, but the serenity of his soul was undisturbed. 
As though a ray of divine inspiration had touched 
his spirits he looked beyond the trials, perplexities, 
and cares of each day, and saw the visions which 
others were blind to enjoy. He could remain firm 
without the encouragement of victory; he could accept 
defeat without despondency; he made stepping stones 
of disaster, and amazed the world by his fortitude. 
Benedict Arnold might wound his heart, but even that 
cruel wound could not open the way to despair. His 
half-clad and half-fed troops might leave the track of 
bloody feet in the snows of Xew Jerse} r , but the radi- 
ant vision never melted from his sight. His powerful 
enemies might send veteran troops in huge bodies to 
crush the struggling rebels, but his faith never fal- 
tered. The day would surely come when the dreams 
would become reality, and after great tribulation, 
trial, and suffering a new child would be born into the 
family of nations — a child destined to become a giant 
strong enough to fear no enemy but itself. 



240 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Crown Our Washington. 

Hezekiah Butterworth. 

Arise — 'Tis the day of our Washington's glory, 

The garlands uplift for our liberties won; 
Forever let Youth tell the patriot's story, 
Whose sword swept for freedom the fields of the sun ! 
Not with gold, nor with gems, 
But with evergreens vernal, 
And the banners of stars that the continent span, 

Crown, crown we the chief of the heroes eternal, 
Who lifted his sword for the birthright cf man! 

He gave us a nation; to make it immortal 

He laid down for Freedom the sword that he drew, 
And his faith leads us on through the uplifting portal 
Of the glories of peace and our destinies new. 
Not with gold, nor with gems, 
But with evergreens vernal, 
And the flags that the nations of liberty span, 

Crown, crown him the chief of the heroes eternal, 
Who laid down his sword for the birthright of man! 

Lead, Face of the Future, serene in thy beauty, 

Till o'er the dead heroes the peace star shall gleam, 
Till Right shall be Might in the counsels of duty, 
And the service of man be life's glory supreme. 
Not with gold, nor with gems, 
But with evergreens vernal. 
And the flags that the nations in brotherhood span, 
Crown, crown we the chief of the heroes eternal, 
Whose honor was gained by his service to man! 

Spirit of Liberty, sweet are thy numbers! 

The winds to thy banners their tribute shall bring 
While rolls the Potomac where Washington slumbers, 
And his natal day comes with the angels of spring. 
We follow thy counsels, 
O hero eternal ! 



Washington's Birthday. 241 

To highest achievement the school leads the van, 

And, crowning thy brow with the evergreen vernal, 
We pledge thee our all to the service of man ! 




WASHINGTON'S TRAINING. 

Chaeles Wentwoeth Upham. 

Among the mountain passes of the Blue Eidge and 
the Alleghanies, a youth is seen employed in the manly 
and invigorating occupation of a surveyor, and 
awakening the admiration of the backwoodsmen and 
savage chieftains by the strength, and endurance of 
his frame and the resolution and energy of his char- 
acter. In his stature and conformation he is a noble 
specimen of a man. In the various exercises of mus- 
cular power, on foot, or in the saddle, he excels all 
competitors. His admirable physical traits are in per- 
fect accordance with the properties of his mind and 
heart; and over all, crowning all, is a beautiful, and, 
in one so young, a strange dignity of manner, and of 
mien — a calm seriousness, a sublime self-control, 
which at once compels the veneration, attracts the 
confidence, and secures the favor of all who behold 
him. That youth is the Leader whom Heaven is pre- 
paring to conduct America through her approaching 
trial. 

As we see him voluntarily relinquishing the enjoy- 
ments, luxuries, and ease of the opulent refinement 
in which he was born and bred, and choosing the 
perils and hardships of the wilderness; as we follow 
him fording swollen streams, climbing rugged moun- 
tains, breasting the forest storms, wading through 



242 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

snow-drifts, sleeping in the open air, living upon the 
coarse food of hunters and of Indians, we trace with 
devout admiration the divinely appointed education 
he was receiving to enable him to meet and endure 
the fatigues, exposures, and privations of the War of 
Independence. 

Soon he was called to a more public sphere of ac- 
tion; and we again follow him in his romantic adven- 
tures as he travels the far-off wilderness, a special 
messenger to the French commander on the Ohio, and 
afterwards, when he led forth the troops of Virginia 
in the same direction, or accompanied the ill-starred 
Braddock to the blood-stained banks of the Monon- 
gahela. Everywhere we see the hand of God con- 
ducting him into danger, that he might extract from 
it the wisdom of an experience not otherwise to be 
obtained, and develop those heroic qualities by which 
alone danger and difficulty can be surmounted; but 
all the while covering him with a shield. 

When we think of him, at midnight and in mid- 
winter, thrown from a frail raft into the deep and 
angry waters of a wide and rushing western river, thus 
separated from his only companion, through the 
wilderness with no aid for miles and leagues about 
him, buffeting the rapid current and struggling 
through driving cakes of ice; when we behold the 
stealthy savage, whose aim against all other marks is 
unerring, pointing his rifle deliberately at him, and 
firing, over and over again; when we see him riding 
through showers of bullets on Braddock's fatal Held, 
and reflect that never, during his whole life, was he 
ever wounded, or even touched by a hostile force — 
do we not feel that he was guarded by an unseen 




Washington's Birthday. 243 

hand, warding off every danger? No peril by flood 
or field was permitted to extinguish a life consecrated 
to the hopes of humanity and to the purposes of 
Heaven. 

For more than sixteen years he rested from his 
warfare, amid the shades of Mount Vernon; ripening 
his mind by reading and reflection, increasing his 
knowledge of practical affairs, entering into the whole 
experience of a citizen, at home, and on his farm, 
and as a delegate to the Colonial Assembly. When, at 
last, the war broke out and the unanimous voice of 
the Continental Congress invested him, as the exi- 
gency required, with almost unbounded authority, as 
their Commander-in-Chief, he blended, although still 
in the prime of his life, in the mature bloom of his 
manhood, the attributes of a sage with those of a 
hero. A more perfectly fitted and furnished char- 
acter has never appeared on the theater of human ac- 
tion than when, reigning up his war-horse beneath 
the majestic and venerable elm, still standing at the 
entrance of the Watertown road to Cambridge, 
George Washington unsheathed his sword and assumed 
Jhe command of the gathered armies of American 
Liberty. , 



I f 



The Unselfishness oe Washington. 

Robebt Teeat Paine. 

To the pen of the historian must be resigned the 
more arduous and elaborate tribute of justice to those 
efforts of heroic and political virtue which conducted 
the American people to peace and liberty. The van- 
quished foe retired from our shores, and left to the 



244 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

controlling genius who repelled them the gratitude 
of his own country and the admiration of the world. 
The time had now arrived which was to apply the 
touchstone to his integrity, which was to assay the 
affinity of his principles to the standard of immutable 
right. 

On the one hand, a realm to which he was endeared 
by his services almost invited him to empire; on the 
other, the liberty to whose protection his life had been 
devoted was the ornament and boon of human nature. 

Washington could not depart from his own great 
self. His country was free. He was no longer a gen- 
eral. Sublime spectacle! more elevating to the pride 
of virtue than the sovereignty of the globe united to 
the scepter of the ages! Enthroned in the hearts of 
his countrymen, the gorgeous pageantry of preroga- 
tive was unworthy the majesty of his dominion. That 
effulgence of military character which in ancient 
states has blasted the rights of the people whose re- 
nown it had brightened was not here permitted, by 
the hero from whom it emanated, to shine with so 
destructive a luster. Its beams, though intensely re- 
splendent, did not wither the young blossoms of our 
Independence; and Liberty, like the burning bush, 
flourished, unconsumed by the glory which sur- 
rounded it. 

To the illustrious founder of our Republic it was 
reserved to exhibit the example of a magnanimity that 
commanded victory, of a moderation that retired from 
triumph. Unlike the erratic meteors of ambition, 
whose flaming path sheds a disastrous light on the 
pages of history, his bright orb, eclipsing the lumi- 
naries among which it rolled, never portended "fear- 



Washington's Birthday. 245 

ful change n to religion, nor from its " golded tresses " 
shook pestilence on empire. 

What to other heroes has been glory, would to 
Washington have been disgrace. To his intrepidity, 
it would have added no honorary trophy, to have 
waded, like the conqueror of Peru, through the blood 
of credulous millions, to plant the standard of triumph 
at the burning mouth of a volcano. To his fame, it 
would have erected no auxiliary monument to have 
invaded, like the ravager of Egypt, an innocent though 
barbarous nation, to inscribe his name on the pillar 
of Pompey. 



Geouge Washington. 

Only a baby, fair and small, 

Like many another baby son, 
Whose smiles and tears came swift at call; 
Who ate, and slept, and grew, that's all — 

The infant Washington. 

Only a boy, like other boys, 

With tasks and studies, sports and fun; 
Pond of his books and games and toys; 
Living his childish griefs and joys — 

The little Washington. 

Only a lad, awkward and shy, 

Skilled in handling a horse or gun; 
Mastering knowledge that, by and by, 
Should aid him in duties great and high — 
The youthful Washington. 

Only a man of finest bent, 
Hero of battles fought and won; 

Surveyor, General, President, 

Who served his country, and died content- 
The patriot Washington. 



246 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Only — ah ! what was the secret, then, 
Of his being America's honored son? 

Why was he famed above other men? 

His name upon every tongue and pen — 
The illustrious Washington. 

A mighty brain, a will to endure, 

Passions subdued, a slave to none, 
A heart that was brave and strong and sure, 
A soul that was noble and great and pure, 
A faith in G-od that was held secure — 
This was George Washington. 



Original Maxims of George Washington. 

i. 

Commerce and industry are the best mines of a 
nation. 

ii. 

Let your heart feel for the afflictions and distresses 
of every one. 

in. 

Ingratitude, I hope, will never constitute a part of 
my character, nor find a place in my bosom. 

J iv. 

Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark 
of celestial fire called conscience. 

v. 

To persevere is one's duty, and to be silent is the 
best answer to calumny. 

VI. 

I never wish to promise more than I have a moral 
certainty of performing. 



Washington's Birthday. 247 

VII. 

I shall never attempt to palliate my own foibles by 
exposing the error of another. 

VIII. 

It is a maxim with me not to ask what, under simi- 
lar circumstances, I would not grant. 

IX. 

Be courteous to all, but intimate with few ; and let 
those be well tried before you give them your confi- 
dence. 

x. 

Associate with men of good quality if you esteem 
your own reputation, for it is better to be alone than in 
bad company. 

XI. 

A good character is the first essential in a man. It 
is, therefore, highly important to endeavor not only to 
be learned, but virtuous. 

XII. 

I am resolved that no misrepresentations, false- 
hoods, or calumny shall make me swerve from what I 
conceive to be the strict line of duty. 



Washington a Model for Youth. 

TniOTHY DWIGHT. 

To Americans the name of Washington will be 
forever dear — a savor of sweet incense, descending to 
every succeeding generation. The things which he 
has done are too great, too interesting, ever to be for- 



248 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

gotten. Every object which we see, every employment 
in which we are engaged, every comfort which we 
enjoy, reminds us daily of his character. 

Every ship bears the fruit of his labors on its wings 
and exultingly spreads its streamers to his honor. The 
student meets him in the still and peaceful walk; the 
traveler sees him in all the smiling and prosperous 
scenes of his journey; and our whole country, in her 
thrift, order, safety, and morals, bears inscribed in 
sunbeams, on all her hills and plains, the name and 
glory of Washington. 

By him are our rulers at the present time, and at 
every future period, taught how to rule. The same 
conduct will ever produce substantially the same 
effects, the same public well-being, the same glory, the 
same veneration. To be wise and good; to forget or 
restrain the dictates of passion and obey those of duty; 
to seek singly the public welfare, and lose in it per- 
sonal gratification; to resist calmly and firmly the 
passions, and only pursue the interests of a nation, 
is the greatest secret of ruling well. 

The youth of our country who wish to become great, 
useful, and honorable will here find the best direc- 
tions and the most powerful incitements. To be great, 
useful, and honorable they must resemble him. Let 
them remember that greatness is not the result of 
mere chance or genius; that it is not the flash of 
brilliancy, nor the desperate sally of ambition; that 
it is, on the contrary, the combined results of strong 
mental endowments, vigorous cultivation, honorable 
design, and wise discretion. It is not the glare of a 
meteor, glittering, dazzling, consuming, and vanishing, 
but the steady and exalted splendor of the sun,— a 



Washington's Birthday. 249 

splendor which, while it shines with pre-eminent 
brightness, warms, also, enlivens, adorns, improves, 
and perfects the objects on which it shines; glorious 
indeed by its luster, but still more glorious in the use- 
ful effects produced by its power. Of this great truth, 
the transcendent example before us is a most dignified 
exhibition. 

Let our youth imitate, therefore, the incessant at- 
tention, the exact observation, the unwearied industry, 
the scrupulous regard to advice, the slowness of de- 
cision, the cautious prudence, the nice punctuality, 
the strict propriety, the independence of thought and 
feeling, the unwavering firmness, the unbiased im- 
partiality, the steady moderation, the exact justice, 
the unveering truth, the universal humanity, and the 
high veneration for religion and for God always man- 
ifested by this great man. 

Then will future Washingtons arise to bless our 
country. 



The Memory of Washington. 
E. Everett. 

To us, citizens of America, it belongs above all 
others to show respect to the memory of Washington 
by the practical deference which we pay to those 
sober maxims of public policy which he has left us — 
a last testament of affection in his Farewell Address. 
Of all the exhortations which it contains, I scarce 
need say to you that none are so emphatically uttered, 
none so anxiously repeated, as those which enjoin the 
preservation of the union of these States. 

On this, under Providence, it depends, in the judg- 



250 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

ment of Washington, whether the people of America 
shall follow the Old World example, and he broken 
np into a group of independent military powers, 
wasted by eternal border wars, feeding the ambition 
of petty sovereigns on the life-blood of wasted princi- 
palities, — a custom house on the bank of every river, a 
fortress on every frontier hill, a pirate lurking in the 
recesses of every bay, — or whether they shall continue 
to constitute a federal republic, the most extensive, 
the most powerful, the most prosperous in the long 
line of ages. 

No one can read the Farewell Address without feel- 
ing that this was the thought and this the care which 
lay nearest and heaviest upon that noble heart; and 
if — which Heaven forbid — the day shall ever arrive 
when his parting counsels on that head shall be for- 
gotten, on that day, come it soon or come it late, it 
may as mournfully, as truly be said that Washington 
has lived in vain. Then the vessels, as they ascend and 
descend the Potomac, may toll their bells with new 
significance as they pass Mount Vernon; they will 
strike the requiem of constitutional liberty for us — for 
all nations. 

But it cannot, shall not be; this great woe to our 
beloved country, this catastrophe for the cause of 
national freedom, this grievous calamity for the whole 
civilized world, it cannot, shall not be. No, by the 
glorious 19th of April, 1775; no, by the precious blood 
of Bunker Hill, of Princeton, of Saratoga, of King's 
Mountain, of Yorktown; no, by the undying spirit of 
'76: no, by the sacred dust enshrined at Mount Vernon; 
no, by the dear, immortal memory of Washington — 
that sorrow and shame shall never be, 



shington's Birth 251 

A great and venerated character like that of Wash- 
ington, which commands the respect of an entire pop- 
ulation, however divided on other questions, is not an 
isolated fact in history to be regarded with barren 
admiration — it is a dispensation of Providence for 
good. It was well said by Mr. Jefferson in 1792, writ- 
ing to Washington to dissuade him from declining a 
renomi nation: 

"Xorth and South will hang together while they have 
you to hang to." Washington in the flesh is taken 
from us: we shall never behold him as our fathers did; 
but his memory remains, and I say. let us hang to his 
memory. Let us make a national festival and holiday 
of his birthday: and sver, :- the 22d of February re- 
turns, let us remember that, while with these solemn 
and joyous rites of observance we celebrate the great 
anniversary, our fellow-citizens on the Hudson, on the 
Potomac, from the Southern plains to the Western 
lakes, are engaged in the same offices of gratitude and 
love. 

Xor we. nor they alone — beyond the Ohio, beyond 
the Mississippi, along that stupendous trail of immi- 
gration from East to West, which, bursting into 
States is it moves westward, is already treading the 
Western prairies, swarming through the portals of the 
;ky Mountains and winding down their slopes, the 
name and the memory of Washington on that gracious 
night will travel with the silver queen of heaven 
- :: longitude, nor part company 
with her till she walks in her brightness through the 
Golden Gate of California, and passes serenely on to 
hold midnight court with her Australian stars. There, 
and there only, in barbarous archipelagoes, as yet tin- 



252 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

trodden by civilized man, the name of Washington is 
unknown; and there, too, when they swarm with en- 
lightened millions, new honors shall be paid with ours 
to his memory. 



The Character of Washington. 
Henky Cabot Lodge. 

Foe many years I have studied minutely the career 
of Washington, and with every step the greatness of 
the man has grown upon me; for analysis has failed to 
discover the act of his life which, under the condi- 
tions of the time, I could unhesitatingly pronounce to 
have been an error. Such has been my experience, 
and, although my deductions may be wrong, they at 
least have been carefully and slowly made. I see in 
Washington a great soldier, who fought a trying war 
to a successful end impossible without him; a great 
statesman, who did more than all other men to lay 
the foundations of a republic which has endured in 
prosperity for more than a century. I find in him 
a marvelous judgment which was never at fault, a 
penetrating vision which beheld the future of Amer- 
ica when it was dim to other eyes, a great intellectual 
force, a will of iron, an unyielding grasp of facts, and 
an unequaled strength of patriotic purpose. I see in 
him, too, a pure and high-minded gentleman of daunt- 
less courage and stainless honor, simple and stately 
of manner, kind and generous of heart. Such he was 
in truth. The historian and the biographer may fail 
to do him justice, but the instinct of mankind will 
not fail. The real hero needs not books to give him 
worshippers. George Washington will always receive 



Washington's Birthday. 253 

the love and reverence of men, because they see em- 
bodied in him the noblest possibilities of humanity. 



The Washington Monument. 

ROBERT C. WlXTHROP. 

Let us seize this occasion to renew to each other 
our vows of allegiance and devotion to the American 
Union, and let us recognize in our common title to 
the name and fame of "Washington, and in our venera- 
tion for his example and advice, the all-sufficient cen- 
tripetal power which shall hold the thick-clustering 
stars of our confederacy in one glorious constellation 
forever. Let the column we are about to construct 
be at once a pledge and an emblem of perpetual union. 
Let the foundations be laid, let the- superstructure be 
built up and cemented, let each stone be laid and riv- 
eted, in a spirit of national brotherhood. And may 
the earliest rays of the rising sun, till that sun shall 
set to rise no more, draw forth from it daily, as from 
the fabled statue of antiquity, a strain of national 
harmony which strikes a responsive chord in every 
heart throughout the Republic. 

Proceed, then, with the work for which you have 
assembled. Lay the corner-stone of a monument 
which shall adequately bespeak the gratitude of the 
whole American people to the illustrious Father of 
his Country. Build it to the skies — you cannot out- 
reach the loftiness of his principles. Found it upon 
the massive and eternal rock — you cannot make it 
more enduring than his fame. Construct it of the 
peerless Parian marble — you cannot make it purer 



254 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

than his life. Exhaust upon it the rules and princi- 
ples of ancient and modern art — you cannot make it 
more proportionate than his character. 

But let not your homage to his memory end here. 
Think not to transfer to a tablet or a column the 
tribute which is due from yourselves. Just honor to 
Washington can only be rendered by observing his 
precepts and imitating his example. He has built his 
own monument. "We, and those who come after us in 
successive generations, are its appointed privileged 
guardians. 

The widespread Eepublic is the true monument to 
Washington. Maintain its independence; uphold its 
Constitution; preserve its Union; defend its liberty. 
Let it stand before the world in all its original 
strength and beauty; securing peace, order, equality, 
and freedom to all within its boundaries, and shedding 
light and hope and joy upon the pathway of human 
liberty throughout the world, and Washington needs 
no other monument. Other structures may fitly test 
our veneration for him; this, this alone can adequately 
illustrate his services to mankind. Xor does he need 
even this. The Eepublic may perish, the wide arch 
of our ranged Union may fall; star by star its glories 
may expire, stone by stone its column and its capitol 
may crumble, all other names which adorn its annals 
may be forgotten; but, as long as human hearts shall 
anywhere pant, or human tongues shall anywhere 
plead for a true, rational, constitutional liberty, those 
hearts shall enshrine the memory, and those tongues 
prolong the fame of George Washington. 



ARBOR DAY. 



Arbor Day History. 
K. G. Wells. 

Arbor Day, which is here regarded as a public ob- 
servance of pleasing sentiment, a kind of reversion to 
the tree-worship of unknown ancestors, originated in 
Nebraska, as a matter of economic importance. Rain 
must be induced to shed itself on the sterile plains 
(Dr. Dyrenforth's experiments were then unknown); 
trees must be cultivated to be consumed, when full 
grown, as fuel, or to be utilized as timber; the severity 
of the climate must be lessened; so legislation was 
tried, and became effective. 

On January 4, 1872, Hon. J. Sterling Morton, at 
the annual meeting of the State Board of Agriculture, 
held in Lincoln, Nebraska, introduced a resolution in 
favor of an Arbor Day, whereupon April 10 was " set 
apart and consecrated for tree-planting." A premium 
was offered by the society to the county which should 
plant the largest number of trees on that day, and a 
" farm library " of twenty-five books to the person 
who should plant the greatest number of trees. The 
West has always been famous for its bounties — it 
works upon self-interest. Millions of trees conse- 
sequently were set out that year. 

In 1885, the climate not yet having realized its 



256 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

moral responsibility and changed its character, as was 
expected, the date of Arbor Day was postponed to 
April 22, as being a more favorable time for successful 
tree-planting; and the day was honored by being made 
a legal holiday. In Nebraska, whenever such holiday 
occurs on Sunday, the Monday following is the holiday 
and " observed as the Sabbath," as far as regards the 
presentation of bills of exchange, etc., for payment or 
acceptance. Arbor Day was, therefore, elevated to the 
same rank as other public holidays; bills becoming due 
and payable on the day following it, rather than on 
the day itself. Nature, now appeased by the homage 
offered her, did her best to aid legislative enactment, 
and the trees grew rapidly. 

Yet no one was willing to pay higher taxes because 
of the arboreal productiveness of his land, so a clause 
was added to the State constitution providing that 
" the increased value of lands by reason of live fences, 
fruit and forest-trees grown and cultivated thereon, 
shall not be taken into account in the assessment 
thereof." After this everything prospered. In the 
spring of 1888 three firms alone had orders for over 
$10,000,000 worth of forest-tree seedlings, to say noth- 
ing of other varieties ordered; 2,673,000,000 " tree 
claims," or 700,000 acres of trees, were planted by hu- 
man hands. 

As newspapers cannot afford to be outdone by na- 
ture, the Nebraska City Daily Press issued that year 
a special edition in honor of the founder of the day, 
Mr. Morton. It published letters received from men 
all over the country, who spoke eulogistically and 
poetically. James Russell Lowell wrote: "I willingly 
confess to so great a partiality for trees as tempis me 



Arbor Day. 257 

to respect a man in exact proportion to his respect for 
them. I am glad to join in this tribute of friendly 
gratitude to the inventor of Arbor Day." Boyle 
O'Eeilly called the observance of the day " one of the 
loveliest practices of the country and century." Francis 
Parkman congratulated the West on its discovery. 
(Boston had begun to lose its prestige.) Edward E. 
Hale, with the prevision characteristic of him, advised 
the " State to invest a considerable sum annually from 
its sinking fund, in forests." 

Kansas, Iowa, Michigan, and other States soon fol- 
lowed the exanrple of Xebraska in appointing Arbor 
Day. Joaquin Miller celebrated the first Arbor Day 
of California, in 1887, by a poem in which he alluded 
to the gold mania and its victims of ? 49: 

" God gave us Mother Earth full blest 
With robes of green in healthful fold; 
We tore the green robes from her breast, 
We sold our mother's robes for gold. 

" We sold her garments fair, and she 
Lies shamed and naked at our feet ! 
In penitence we plant a tree; 

We plant the cross and count it meet. 

" We plant the cross, the Christian cross, 
The Crusade Cross of Arbor Day." 

The Michigan Legislature, believing that the indi- 
vidual counts the present cost to himself of all he 
does for posterity, passed an act crediting every 
man twenty-five cents on his highway-tax whenever 
he planted trees on the road bordering his own prop- 
erty, under certain restrictions. 



258 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The valleys of Idaho have suffered so much from 
the destruction of timber and the melting snow from 
the mountains, which comes down in torrents, that the 
State has inaugurated Arbor Day to foster the plant- 
ing of trees; that their roots may catch each drop of 
water and that the trees, when grown, may check the 
wasting injury of the spring floods. 

Some of the Western States have urged the setting 
out of vineyards on Arbor Day, and yet the Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union is said to be a more po- 
tent influence in the West than in the East. 

Various States have adopted special methods for 
" booming " the day. In Illinois prominent State offi- 
cials planted trees, each choosing a different growth. 
A curious bit of Iowa forestry has an interest for old 
Bostonians. Its town of Sigoiirney was so named 
by an earlier settler after the New England poetess, 
Lydia H. Sigourney, whose relatives are among Bos- 
ton's " four hundred." Though her now almost for- 
gotten name makes us wonder if we, in turn, shall for- 
get the poetesses of our day, the Westerner has, for 
ages to come, signalized his gratitude for her poesy. 
She, in return for his public expression of interest in 
her literary work, furnished trees for the public square 
in 1860, and paid so generously for their care during 
the first three years of transplanted life that nearly all 
are now living. 

The first " memorial groves " ever planted in Amer- 
ica were in Ohio, at its second celebration of Arbor 
Day, in 1884, in memory of authors, statesmen, pio- 
neers, and others. Tablets for epitaphs, so to speak. 
were affixed to the trees. Many of them were conglom- 
erate memorials, like the trees, which were brought 



Arbor Day. 259 

from Valley Forge and, in a new Ohio grove, dedicated 
to the memory of Washington's heroes. 

New York observed its first Arbor Day, May 3, 
1889, when 5681 school districts planted 24,166 trees. 
Official attention is now thoroughly aroused to the in- 
jury caused to immense areas of surface by the large 
and careless destruction of the Adirondack forests. 

In Florida, Arbor Day outstrips the North, and 
comes on February 14, on which day " many church 
premises and cemeteries were cleaned up." Missouri 
first observed the day in 1886, and " thousands of 
trees, vines, and shrubs have been planted in the 
school yards." 

The day is now established in twenty-seven States 
and Territories, either by act of the Legislature, or 
by proclamation of the Governor, or by both agencies 
combined. In some States it is a legal holiday, and 
agricultural and horticultural societies look after the 
arboreal festivities. They urge the planting of native 
plants in home and school grounds, by roadsides and 
on barren hills and pastures. 

In Massachusetts the principles of Arbor Day began 
thirty years ago, by the covering of 10,000 acres with 
trees; the then barren plains of Cape Cod being now 
thriving planted forests. So proud are we of man's 
agency that we hardly realize that it was also the 
sun and rain which made these trees grow. The re- 
solve establishing the day was first officially approved 
April 9, 1886. On the last Saturday of that month 
Governor Eobinson and Mayor O'Brien, with a ret- 
inue of boys, halted in their official walk on Boston 
Common, midway between the State . House and the 
City Hall. Where once were whipping-posts and an 



260 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

almshouse, the two dignitaries planted twin elms. 
What mattered it that the boys joked about the Gov- 
ernor's shovel having been made by the Lieutenant 
Governor, or that " Robinson," he being a countryman, 
spaded it better than the urban Mayor, if the day 
received official sanction? 

Not until recently has the State Board of Education 
taken action upon the day. On petition of the Massa- 
chusetts Horticultural Society, Hon. J. W. Dickinson, 
secretary of the Board of Education, has prepared a 
printed course of exercises which have been distrib- 
uted among the schools. The society, having inserted 
the wedge of its petition, also stated that natural sci- 
ences, including botany, horticulture, forestry, and 
entomology, should be more fully taught in the 
schools. 

The utility and significance of the day have been 
overlaid with ornate programmes and sentimental ef- 
fusions. What with Arbor Day exercises, flags flying, 
reading, manuals, scripture selections, proclamations 
(" on this day above all other days," etc.), acrostics, 
flowers, dialogues, references to Plato's emotions in the 
grove of the Academy, and reflections upon the duty of 
State boards, — Arbor Day is surfeited with printed 
matter. To encourage patriotism, children vote for 
the kind of tree to be planted, and decide in the same 
manner the variety which should be termed the tree 
of State. In spite of the forced sentiment and the in- 
terlarding of exercises, the day is nobly, wisely, and 
more widely observed each year. To find an ideally 
practical use of it an explorer should go to the Worces- 
ter State Normal Schoool, perched on a rocky hill, 



Arbor Day. 261 

and see how the perennial lessons of horticulture have 
transformed the barren summit into picturesque 
groups of trees, pockets of wild flowers, trails of run- 
ning vines and spots of brilliant color. Divided into 
squads, and armed with hoes, rakes and spades, trun- 
dling wheelbarrows of loam, the pupils are the gar- 
deners of the school. As teachers they have in their 
turn repeated their lessons to their village scholars, 
till many a village improvement society owes its ini- 
tiative to a normal graduate. The moral significance 
of the day has, too, its importance; for, as Lucy Lar- 
com, the genial-hearted woman and poet, sings: 

" He who plants a tree, 
Plants a hope." 



Song of Arbor Day. 

Sarah J. Pettinos. 

"We have come with joyful greeting, 

Songs of gladness, voices gay, 
Teachers, friends, and happy children, 

All to welcome Arbor Day. 
Here we plant the tree whose branches, 

Warmed by breath of summer days, 
Nourished by soft dews and showers, 

Soon shall wave in leafy sprays. 

Gentle winds will murmur softly, 

Zephyrs float on noiseless wing; 
'Mid its boughs shall thrush and robin 

Build their nests and sweetly sing. 
'Neath its sheltering arms shall childhood, 

"Weary of the noontide heat, 
In its cool, inviting shadow 

Find a pleasant, safe retreat. 



262 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Plant we, then, throughout our borders, 

O'er our lands so fair and wide, 
Treasures from the leafy forest, 

Vale and hill and mountain- side. 
Rooted deep, oh, let them flourish; 

Sturdy giants may they be ! 
Emblems of the cause we cherish— 

Education broad and free. 



The Little Brown Seed in the Furrow. 
Ida W. Benham. 

A little brown seed in the furrow 

Lay still in its gloomy bed, 
While violets blue and lilies white 

Were whispering overhead. 
They whispered of glories strange and rare, 
Of glittering dew and floating air, 
Of beauty and rapture everywhere, 

And the seed heard all they said. 

Poor little brown seed in the furrow; 

So close to the lilies 1 feet, 
So far away from the great glad day, 

Where life seemed all complete! 
In her heart she treasured every word, 
And she longed for the blessings of which she heard; 
For the light that shone and the air that stirred 

In that land so wondrous sweet. 

The little brown seed in the furrow 

Was thrilled with a strange unrest; 
A warm new life beat tremblingly 

In the tiny, heaving breast; 
With her two small hands clasped close in prayer, 
She lifted them up in the darkness there, 
Up, up, through the dark, toward sun and air, 
Her folded hands she pushed. 



Arbor Day. 263 

O little brown seed in the furrow! 

At last you have pierced the mold, 
And quivering with a life intense, 

Your beautiful leaves unfold 
Like wings outspread for upward flight; 
And slowly, slowly, in dew and light 
A sweet bud opens — till, in God's sight, 

You wear a crown of gold. 



Plant a Tree. 

Lucy Larcom. 

He who plants a tree, 

Plants a hope. 
Rootlets up through fibers blindly grope; 
Leaves unfold into horizons free. 

So man's life must climb 

From the clods of time 

Unto heavens sublime. 
Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree, 
What the glory of thy boughs shall be? 

He who plants a tree, 

Plants a joy; 
Plants a comfort that will never cloy; 
Every day a fresh reality, 

Beautiful and strong, 

To whose shelter throng 

Creatures blithe with song. 
If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree, 
Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee! 

He who plants a tree, 

He plants peace. 
Under its green curtain jargons cease; 
Leaf and zephyr murmur soothingly; 

Shadows soft with sleep 

Down tired eyelids creep, 

Balm of slumber deep. 



264 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Never hast thou dreamed, thou blessed tree, 
Of the benediction thou shalt be. 

He who plants a tree, 

He plants youth; 
Vigor won for centuries, in sooth; 
Life of time, that hints eternity! 

Boughs their strength uprear, 

New shoots every year 

On old growths appear. 
Thou shalt teach the ages, sturdy tree, 
Youth of soul is immortality. 

He who plants a tree, 
. He plants love. 
Tents of coolness spreading out above 
Wayfarers he may not live to see. 
Gifts that grow are best; 
Hands that bless are blest. 
Plant; Life does the rest! 
Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree, 
And his work its own reward shall be. 



The Song of the Pine. 

James Buckham. 

A wind of April softly stole 

Over the forest's soul, 

And, like a harp in the casement hung, 
The boughs and the little leaves began 
To sing their songs to the soul of man; 

Each as God made it, so it sung. 

The sturdy beech of its triumphs told; 

The birches sang of the strength of youth; 
The willow murmured with pensive gold; 

And the oak tree cried, "I stand like truth! " 
But the song that braced my soul like wine 
Was the song of the pine. 



Arbor Day. 265 

There he stood, in his cloak and plume, 
Robed and wrapped in a stately gloom. 
In the passing wind his branches rang, 
And this is the song that the pine tree sang: 

" Life is no play-day, 

Eevel, or heyday! 

Virtue and right— to battle for these, 

"Wake, strong soul, from thy dreams and thine ease! 

Here, then, stand I, 

Sworn to a cause one should live for or die. 

I change not my mail by day or by night; 

I stand in the wood like a challenging knight, 

Till the world swears allegiance to virtue and right! " 

Then the fitful wind sank, and the forest was still, 
Save a brook, leaping down like a child from the hill. 
But I heard in my soul that deep, challenging tone — 
" For virtue — for right — till the world is thine own!" 



Three Trees. 

Charles H. Crandall. 

The pine tree grew in the wood, 

Tapering, straight, and high; 

Stately and proud it stood, 

Black-green against the sky. 

Crowded so close, it sought the blue, 

And ever upward it reached and grew. 

The oak tree stood in the field, 
Beneath it dozed the herds; 
It gave to the mower a shield, 
It gave a home to the birds. 
Sturdy and broad, it guarded tho farms, 
With its brawny trunk and knotted arms. 



266 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The apple tree grew by the wall, 
Ugly and crooked and black; 
But it knew the gardener's call, 
And the children rode on its back. 
It scattered its blossoms upon the air, 
It covered the ground with fruitage fair. 

■ ' Now, hey," said the pine, " for the woodV 
Come, live with the forest band. 
Our comrades will do you good, 
And tall and straight you will stand." 
And he swung his boughs to a witching sound, 
And flung his cones like coins around. 

" Oho! " laughed the sturdy oak; 
" The life of the field for me. 
I weather the lightning-stroke; 
My branches are broad and free. 
Grow straight and slim in the wood, if you will- 
Give me the sun and the wind-swept hill." 

And the apple tree murmured low: 

"lam neither straight nor strong; 
Crooked my back doth grow 
With bearing my burdens long." 
And it dropped its fruit as it dropped a tear, 
And reddened the ground with fragrant cheer. 

And the Lord of the harvest heard, 

And He said: " I have use for all; 
For the bough that shelters a bird, 
For the beam that pillars a hall; 
And, grow they tall, or grow they ill, 
They grow but to wait their Master's will." 

So a ship of the oak was sent 

Far over the ocean blue, 
And the pine was the mast that bent 

As over the waves it flew, 



Arbor Day. 267 

And the ruddy fruit of the apple tree 
Was borne to a starving isle of the sea. 

Now, the farmer grows like the oak, 

And the townsman is proud and tall, 
And city and field are full of folk — 
But the Lord has need of all. 
And who will be like the apple tree, 
That fed the starving over the sea? 



The Pine Tree. 

A handful of moss from the woodside, 

Dappled with gold and brown, 
I borrowed to gladden my chamber 

In the heart of the dusty town; 
And here, in the flickering shadows 

Traced by my window-vine, 
It has nursed into life and freshness 

The germ of a giant pine. 

I turn from the cool-bosomed lilies, 

Dewy the whole day through; 
From the flaunting torches of tulips, 

Flame-like in form and hue; 
From the gorgeous geraniums' glory, 

From the trellis where roses twine, 
To welcome this sturdy stranger, 

This poor little alien pine. 

Out of this feeble seedling 

What wonders the years may bring! 
Its stem may defy the tempest, 

Its limbs in the whirlwind sing; 
For age, which to men comes laden 

With weakness and sure decline, 
Will add only growth and beauty 

And strength to this tiny pine. 



268 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Hark! is it an airy fancy? 

The war of its storm- wrung limbs, 
Then the sigh of its tender tassels 

To the twilight zephyr-hymns; 
The rain on its thick, soft greenness, 

When the spring skies weep and shine- 
Oh, many and mighty the voices 

Haunting this tiny pine! 

Shops, and the jar of machinery, 

Mills, and the shudder of wheels, 
Wharves, and the bustle of commerce, 

Ships, and the rushing of keels; 
Town, and the hurry of living, 

The murmur which none may define, 
I hear and see as I listen, 

Watching this tiny pine. 

I will take it again to the woodside, 

That, safe with its kindred there, 
Its evergreen arms may broaden 

Yearly more strong and fair. 
And long after weeds and brambles 

Grow over this head of mine, 
The wild birds will build and warble 

In the boughs of my grateful pine. 



Every-Day Botany. 

Katherine H. Perry. 

Who doubts there are classes 

Of men, like the grasses 
And flowers, subdivided in many a way? 

You've seen them, I've seen them, 

We've jostled between them, 
These manifold specimens— day after day, 



Arbor Day. 269 

You've met nettles that sting you, 

And roses that fling you 
Their exquisite incense from warm, hidden hearts, 

And bright morning-glories 

That tell their own stories, 
With round honest faces rehearsing their parts. 

Sometimes an old thistle 

Will bluster and bristle, 
When chance or necessity leads you his way; 

But do not upbraid him — 

He's just as God made him; 
Perchance some small good he has done in his day. 

The poppies think sleeping 

Far better than weeping, 
And never let w T orry usurp a good nod; 

They'll laugh and grow fatter 

O'er any grave matter, 
When sensitive plants would sink under the sod. 

Frail harebells will flourish 

With little to nourish 
Their delicate fibers but sunshine and rock; 

But plant there a lily, 

Or daffydowndilly, 
Or orchid, how soon would they feel their death-shock! 

The hollyhocks greet you, 

Whenever they meet you, 
With stiff est of bows, or a curt little phrase; 

But never a mullein, 

Was haughty or sullen, 
And warm are their hand-shakes, if awkward their ways. 

Ah! never a flower, 

Blooming wild or in bower, 
But lives in Humanity's flora anew; 

May I ask, in conclusion, 

'Mid all this confusion, 
What flower we shall find if we analyze you? 



270 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Cedars of Lebanon. 

Letitia E. Landon. 

Ye ancients of the earth, beneath whose shade 
Swept the fierce banners of earth's mightiest kings, 

When millions for a battle were arrayed, 
And the sky darkened with the vultures' wings. 

Long silence followed on the battle cries; 

First the bones whitened, then were seen no more; 
The summer grasses sprang for summer skies, 

And dim tradition told no tales of yore. 

The works of peace succeeded those first wars, 
Men left the desert tents for marble walls; 

Then rose the towers from whence they watched the stars, 
And the vast wonders of their kingly halls. 

And they are perished; those imperial towers 
Read not amid the midnight stars their doom; 

The pomp and art of all their glorious hours 
Lie hidden in the sands that are their tomb. 

And ye, ancestral trees, are somewhat shorn 

Of the first strength that marked earth's earlier clime- 

But still ye stand, stately and tempest-worn, 
To show how nature triumphs over time. 

Much have ye witnessed— but yet more remains; 

The mind's great empire is but just begun; 
The desert beauty of your distant plains 

Proclaims how much has yet been left undone. 

Will not your giant columns yet behold 
The world's old age, enlightened, calm, and free; 

More glorious than the glories known of old — 
The spirit's placid rule o'er land and sea? 

All that the past has taught is not in vain- 
Wisdom is garnered up, from centuries gone; 

Love, hope and mind prepare a nobler reign 
Than ye have known — Cedars of Lebanon! 



Arbor Day. 271 

Song of the Maple. 

R. M. Streeter. 

Maple, from the leafy wildwood, 

Where thine early years have sped, 
Emblem of our happy childhood, 

To the past forever fled — 
Here, with radiant spring adorning 

Banks and braes with bads and flowers, 
We, in life's hope-lighted morning, 

Leave thee to the sun and showers. 

Infant leaves, unclasp your fingers; 

Sunshine, kiss their tender palms; 
Evening wind, as twilight lingers, 

With our maple in thine arms, 
Sway and sing, " O dews of evening, 

Daily, as ye sink to rest, 
May ye see that nearer heaven 

Grows the nestling on my breast." 

On the early dawning morrow, 

In the garden-world of care, 
We must meet the joy and sorrow 

That await our coming there. 
O brave hearts! when restful evening 

Finds our daily duty o'er, 
May it find us nearer heaven 

Than we were the day before! 



The Forest Trees. 

Eliza Cook. 

Up with your heads, ye sylvan lords! 

Wave proudly in the breeze; 
For our cradle-bands and coffin-boards 

Must come from the forest trees. 



272 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

We bless ye for your summer shade, 
When our weak limbs fail and tire; 

Our thanks are due for your winter aid, 
When we pile the bright log fire. 

Oh! where would be our rule on the sea 
And the fame of the sailor band, 

Were it not for the oak and cloud-crowned pine, 
That spring on the quiet land? 

When the ribs and masts of the good ship live, 
And weather the gale with ease, 

Take his glass from the tar who will not give. 
A health to the forest trees. 

Ye lend to life its earliest joy r 

And wait on its latest page; 
In the circling hoop for the rosy boy, 

And the easy chair for age. 

The old man totters on his way, 

With footsteps short and slow; 
But without the stick for his help and stay, 

Not a yard's length could he go. 

The hazel twig in the stripling's hand 

Hath magic power to please; 
And the trusty staff and slender wand 

Are plucked from the forest trees. 

Ye are seen in the shape of the old hand-loom, 

And the merry ringing flail; 
Ye shine in the dome of the monarch's home 

And the sacred altar rail. 

In the rustic porch, the wainscoted wall, 

In the gay triumphal car; 
In the rude-built hut, or the banquet hall, 

No matter — there ye are! 



Arbor Day. 273 

Then up with your heads, ye sylvan lords! 

Wave proudly in the breeze; 
From our cradle-bands to our coffin-boards, 

We're in debt to the forest trees. 



The Trees' Choice. 

Grace B. Carter. 

Down in the valley were gathered, one day, 
All the trees of the neighborhood round; 

For they were to decide, without more delay, 
Which one should be king of the ground. 

"I choose the Elm," said the Maple, in front; 
"For he is so graceful and fair. 
If there's anyone here more fit to be king, 
Will someone come forth and declare? " 

" The Vine is my choice," spoke up a weak voice 
From the Ivy around the trees twined; 

" For, though he depends on the trees for support, 
Yet he's useful to all of mankind." 

" I have listened to all you have said, and now, 
If I be permitted a choice,' ' 
Said the pale, drooping Willow, so patient and sad,- 
Who had not to her thoughts given voice; 

" Of all the grand trees most suited for king, 
The Oak, to me, should stand first — 
The majestic, towering, mighty Oak, 
Which once from a small acorn burst. 

"For our Oak hath traveled o'er land and sea, 
Hath shielded princes, and freedom's laws; 
Hath builded our ships, our bulwarks, our homes, 
And of victories' palms been the cause." 



274 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

"The Oak is our choice, the brave old Oak! '' 

They cry, with a full joyous ring; 
" And we pledge to him our homage and trust — 

Yes, the Oak is our King, the Oak is our King! '' 



What do We Plant when We Plant the Tree 1 ? 
Henry Abbey. 

What do we plant when we plant the tree? 
We plant the ship which will cross the sea, 
We plant the mast to carry the sails, 
We plant the planks to withstand the gales — 
The keel, the keelson, and beam and knee, 
We plant the ship when we plant the tree. 

What do we plant when we plant the tree? 
We plant the houses for you and me. 
We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors, 
We plant the studding, the lath, the doors, 
The beams and siding, all parts that be, 
We plant the house when we plant the tree. 

What do we plant when we plant the tree? 
A thousand things that we daily see. 
We plant the spire that out-towers the crag, 
We plant the staff for our country's flag, 
We plant the shade from the hot sun free; 
We plant all these when we plant the tree. 



DECORATION DAY. 



Ode for Decoration Day. 

Henry Peterson. 

Bring flowers, to strew again 

With fragrant purple rain 

Of lilacs, and of roses white and red, 

The dwellings of our dead — our glorious dead! 

Let the bells ring a solemn funeral chime, 

And wild war-music bring anew the time 

When they who sleep beneath 

Were full of vigorous breath, 
And in their lusty manhood sallied forth, 

Holding in strong right hand 

The fortunes of the land, 
The pride and power and safety of the North! 
It seems but yesterday 
The long and proud array — 
But yesterday when e'en the solid rock 
Shook as with earthquake shock — 
As North and South, like two huge icebergs, ground 
Against each other with convulsive bound, 
And the whole world stood still 

To view the mighty war, 

And hear the thunderous roar, 
While sheeted lightnings wrapped each plain and hill. 

Alas! how few came back 
From battle and from wrack! 
Alas! how many lie 
Beneath a Southern sky, 



276 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Who never heard the fearful fight was done, 

And all they fought for, won! 

Sweeter, I think, their sleep, 

More peaceful and more deep, 

Could they but know their wounds were not in vain; 

Could they but hear the grand triumphal strain, 

And see their homes unmarred by hostile tread. 

Ah! let us trust it is so with our dead — 

That they the thrilling joy of triumph feel, 

And in that joy disdain the foeman's steel. 

We mourn for all, but each doth think of one 

More precious to the heart than aught beside — 
Some father, brother, husband, or some son, 

Who came not back, or, coming, sank and died; 
In him the whole sad list is glorified! 
"He fell 'fore Eichmond, in the seven long days 

When battle rag^d from morn till blood-dewed eve, 
And lies there,'' one pale widowed mourner says, 

And knows not most to triumph or to grieve. 
" My boy fell at Fair Oaks," another sighs; 
"And mine at Gettysburg," his neighbor cries, 

And that great name each sad-eyed listener thrills. 
I think of one who vanished when the press 
Of battle surged along the Wilderness. 

And mourned the North upon her thousand hills. 

gallant brothers of the generous South! 
Foes for a day, and brothers for all time, 

1 charge you by the memories of our youth, 
By Yorktown's field and Montezuma's clime, 

Hold our dead sacred; let them quietly rest 

In your unnumbered vales, where God thought best! 

Your vines and flowers learned long since to forgive, 

And o'er their graves a broidered mantle weave; 

Be you as kind as they are, and the word 

Shall reach the Northland with each summer bird, 

And thoughts as sweet as summer shall awake 

Responsive to your kindness, and shall make 



Decoration Day. 277 

Our peace the peace of brothers once again, 
And banish utterly the days of pain. 

And ye, Northmen! be ye not outdone 

In generous thought and deed. 
We all do need forgiveness, every one; 

And they that give shall find it in their need. 
Spare of your flowers to deck the stranger's grave, 

Who died for a lost cause; 
A soul more daring, resolute, and brave 

Ne'er won a world's applause! 
(A brave man's hatred pauses at the tomb.) 
For him some Southern home was robed in gloom, 
Some wife or mother looked, with longing eyes, 
Through the sad days and nights, with tears and sighs — 
Hope slowly hardening into gaunt Despair. 
Then let your foeman's grave remembrance share; 
Pity a higher charm to Valor lends, 
And in the realms of Sorrow all are friends. 

Yes, bring fresh flowers, and strew the soldier's grave, 

Whether he proudly lies 

Beneath our Northern skies, 
Or where the Southern palms their branches wave. 
Let the bells toll, and wild war-music swell, 

And for one day the thought of all the past — 

Full of those memories vast — 
Come back and haunt us with its mighty spell! 
Bring flowers then, once again, 
And strew with fragrant rain 
Of lilacs, and of roses white and red, 
The dwellings of our dead. 



278 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Soldier's Burial. 

Caroline Norton. 

Hark to the shrill trumpet calling! 

It pierceth the soft summer air; 
Tears from each comrade are falling, 

For the widow and orphan are there. 

The bayonets earthward are turning, 

And the drum's muffled breath rolls around; 

But he hears not the voice of their mourning, 
Nor awakes to the bugle's sad sound. 

Sleep, soldier! though we weep o'er thee 
Who stand by thy cold bier to-day, 

Soon shall the kindest forget thee, 
And thy name from the earth pass away. 

The man thou didst love as a brother, 
A -friend in thy place will have gained; 

Thy dog shall keep watch for another, 
And thy steed by a stranger be reined. 

Hearts that now mourn for thee sadly 

Soon joyous as ever shall be, 
And thy bright orphan boy will laugh gladly 

As he sits on some kind comrade's knee. 

But one friend shall still pay the duty 
Of tears for the true and the brave, 

As when first, in the bloom of her beauty, 
She wept by the soldier's grave. 



Our Comrades. 

The slant sun falls at shut of day 
On patriot graves, whereon we lay 



Decoration Day. 279 

Our .wreaths of laurel aud of bay, 
To wither till the next year's May 
Brings forth fresh leaves and flowers. 

Within these graves our comrades sleep, 
While softened skies above them weep, 
And God's dear stars their vigils keep, 
High o'er the sod, 'neath which, down deep, 
They pass th' unconscious hours. 

No more the ringing battle cry, 
The charging squadrons thundering by, 
The shouts of victory swelling high, 
The mortal groan, the expiring sigh 
Disturb their deep repose. 

A deep repose we may not share; 
Beyond our lovingness and care; 
Beyond our passion and our prayer; 
Unheeding, too, the blooms we bear 
Of laurel or of rose. 

We little reck from whence they came; 
If known to fortune or to fame, 
Or, if oblivion hide a name 
Whose hurting healed the nation's shame 
All one, our comrades they. 

By their green graves, to us so dear, 
We answer roll-call one more year, 
And drop the tribute of a tear 
Above each loyal comrade's bier, 
This Decoration Day. 



280 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

A Ballad of Heroes. 

Austin Dobson. 

Because you passed, and now are not — 
Because in some remoter day 

Your sacred dust in doubtful spot 
Was blown of ancient airs away — 
Because you perished — must men say 

Your deeds were naught, and so profane 
Your lives with that cold burden? Nay, 

The deeds you wrought are not in vain. 

Though it may be, above the plot 

That hid your once imperial clay, 
No greener than o'er men forgot 

The unregarding grasses sway; 

Though there no sweeter is the lay 
Of careless bird; though you remain 

Without distinction of decay, 
The deeds you wrought are not in vain. 

No, for while yet in tower or cot 

Your story stirs the pulse's play, 
And men forget the sordid lot — 

The sordid cares — of cities gray; 

While yet they grow for homelier fray 
More strong from you, as reading plain 

That Life may go, if Honor stay, 
The deeds you wrought are not in vain. 

Envoy . 

Heroes of old! I humbly lay 
The laurel on your graves again; 

Whatever men have done, men may — 
The deeds you wrought are not in vain. 



Decoration Day. 281 

Our Honored Heroes. 

S. F. Smith. 

Strew the fair garlands where slumber the dead, 

King out the strains like the swell of the sea; 
Heartfelt the tribute we lay on each bed: 

Sound o'er the brave the refrain of the free, 
Sound the refrain of the loyal and free, 

Visit each sleeper and hallow each bed; 
Waves the starred banner from seacoast to sea; 

Grateful the living and honored the dead. 

Dear to each heart are the names of the brave; 

Resting in glory, how sweetly they sleep! 
Dewdrops at evening fall soft on each grave, 

Kindred and strangers bend fondly to weep; 
Kindred bend fondly, and drooping eyes weep 

Tears of affection o'er every green grave; 
Fresh are their laurels and peaceful their sleep; 

Love still shall cherish the noble and brave. 

Peace o'er this land, o'er these homes of the free, 

Brood evermore with her sheltering wing-. 
God of the Xation, our trust is in Thee — 

God, our Protector, our Guide, and our King; 
God, our Protector, our Guide, and our King, 

Thou art our refuge— our hope is in Thee; 
Strong in Thy blessing and safe 'neath Thy wing, 

Peace shall encircle these homes of the free. 



282 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Between the Graves. 

Harriet Prescott Spofford. 

Where blood once quenched the camp-fire's brand, 
On every sod throughout the land 

The silver showers slip softly down; 
On every sod some growing stem 

Lifts to the light a shining crown. 

For underneath her bending blue, 
With leaf and sunshine, moon and dew, 

Glad Nature gilds the graveside gloom, 
Nor asks what passions stirred the dust 

Through which her pulses spring to bloom. 

While from the gardens of the South, 

Like blessings blown from some warm mouth, 

The wooing wind steals all day long — 
Steals lingeringly from grave to grave, 

With breath of blossom, breath of song. 

A common flag, breeze, showers and flowers, 
Are weaving all these sunny hours, 

Where broken hearts and hopes are hid, 
And the great mother on each bed 

Lays it, a fragrant coverlid. 

You, who with garlands go about, 
As the tree-tilting bird pours out 

O'er either mound his singing bliss, 
Oh, kind as birds and breezes, leave 

A flower on that grave, and on this ! 

For, lo, the eternal truce of death 
Was called upon the passing breath, 

And all the phantom hates, that shed 
Their shadows round us as they stalked, 

Have no remembrance with the dead ! 



Decoration Bay. 283 

Martyrs Numberless. 

Once more we gather under skies of May, 
When lilac blossoms, and when violet blows, 

And on these grassy graves we weave a spray 
Of Northern lily and of Southern rose. 

Once more we hear the bluebird's song afloat, 

The thrush's piping in the dewy dell; 
We thrill to hear the Northern robin's note, 

And stand ensnared by Southern mock-bird's spell. 

Once more the winds through odorous orchards blow, 
The creamy hawthorns through the fences twine; 

Lo ! all the sunrise splendors are aglow, 
Like cataracts of red and golden wine. 

We bring a wreath, martyrs numberless, 

Who perished that your country still might live; 

Who fought and bled the unborn babe to bless, 
That we should still be brothers, and forgive. 

But now we come, not as in bygone years, 

When anger poisoned sorrow through and through; 

When no one cried, through blended love and tears, 
" Forgive them, for they know not what they do! " 

Thank God! those days have now forever passed, 
With all their strife of party, clique, and clan; 

The Northerner, the Southerner, at last, 
Is simply, solely, an American. 

On Santiago summits we unite 
The grizzled foes of Chickamauga's day; 

The hatreds of a Shiloh sink from sight 
Beneath the waters of Manila Bay. 

Above your graves exultant anthems swell, 

When Peace and love have healed the battle's blows; 
We flush with pride to think those fought so well 
h these, so brave to overcome such foes, 



284 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Peace be to Lee, whose honor shall not cease; 

To Stonewall, of the valor- vibrant name; 
Peace be to Grant, who longed so much for peace, 

To Lincoln, of the everlasting fame ! 



The Red, the White, the Blue. 

Kate B. Sherwood. 

O comrades, on each lonely grave we place one flower to-day, 
More sweet than any that shall bloom upon the heart of May; 
More flush in blue and crimson, with starry splendor crowned, 
Because the thunders raged above, the darkness hemmed 

around; 
The flower that our fathers saw, a hundred years before, 
A tiny tendril springing by the lonely cabin door; 
'Twas sown in fears, 'twas wet with tears, till, lo ! it burst in 

view, 
The symbol of a nation's hopes — the Eed, the White, the Blue. 

Ah ! not in anger, not in strife, we come with laden hands; 

The crimson retinues of war are off in other lands; 

We bring the blossoms we have nursed, to shed their honeyed 

breath 
Where erst the reeling ranks of wrath unbarred the gates of 

death; 
We lift the dear dead faces of our heroes to the light, 
We raise the pallid hands of theirs, we clasp and hold them 

tight; 
We say: O brothers, rise and see the peace you helped to woo, 
Whose snowy pinions hover o'er the Red, the White, the Blue. 

Not yours, silent comrades, the ecstasy of strife, 

The haughty exaltation that rounds the hero's life; 

Not yours the flash of sabers, the shouts of the advance, 

The gleam of thrusting bayonets that shiver as they glance; 

Not yours upon the parapet your banner to unfurl, 

To die with victory on your lips, as back your feet they hurl; 



Decoration Day. 285 

The whisper of a kindling hope, while gayly over you 

The silken folds are dancing out— the Red, the White, the Blue. 

Nay, to your homesick vision the mask of Death was up; 
His icy breath was round you, his draught was in the cup; 
A terror walks at noonday; the dreams that throng the night 
But take the wings of morning, and vanish ere the light. 
But, oh! our fallen heroes, one gleam of heaven shines 
Upon the ghastly phalanxes, along the ragged lines; 
And eyes grown dim with watching are lit with courage new — 
They've heard the tramp of comrades, with the Red, the White, 
the Blue. 

O comrades of the prison, ye have not died in vain, 
For lo! the march of harvests where War has trod the plain! 
And lo! the breath of lilies and of rose beyond compare, 
And the sound of children chanting where the cannon rent 

the air! 
We clasp our hands above you with tearful hearts to-day— 
Your brothers who have worn the blue, your brothers of the 

gray; 
Our hearts are one forever, whatever men may do, 
And over all the glory of the Red, the White, the Blue. 

Ah! not in strife, nor anger, nor idle grief, we come, 
With thrill and throb of bugle, with clamor of the drum. 
We've heard the wings of healing above the war's surcease; 
And lo! the Great Commander has set the watchword, 

"Peace!" 
Peace to the free-born millions who live to do and dare, 
Peace in each brave endeavor, in whatever lot they share! 
Above the triune colors, so dear to me and you, 
The splendid flower that Freedom guards — the Red, the White, 

the Blue. 



286 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Flowers for the Fallen Heroes. 
E. W. Chapman. 

Once again the flowers we gather, 
On these sacred mounds to lay; 

O'er the tombs of fallen heroes 
Float the Stars and Stripes to-day. 

From the mountain, hill, and valley 
Issued forth a noble throng, 

With heroic valor fighting 
Till was heard the victor's song. 

But these brave men now are sleeping, 
While their deeds in memory live, 

And the tribute we are bringing 
Tis the nation's joy to give. 

Bring we here the gold and purple, 
Scarlet, blue, and lily white, 

Tassels from the silver birches, 
And the tulips gay and bright. 

Swords no more are brightly flashing, 
Foes no more our land molest; 

Slumb'ring in the green-clad valley, 
Low and peaceful is their rest. 

Earth to them was full of promise, 
Home and friends and life were dear; 

But when loud the war-cry echoed, 
Quick the answer, " We are here! " 

Swiftly now the years are rolling, 
While the honor and the fame 

Of the valiant brave increases, 
And more dear each noble name. 

Bring bright flowers the graves to garland, 
Let the sweetest music rise, 

Let the Stars and Stripes be waving, 
O'er their generous sacrifice. 



Decoration Day. 287 

Little Nan. 

The wide gates swung open, 
The music softly sounded, 

And loving hands were heaping the soldiers' graves with 
flowers; 
"With pansies, pinks, and roses, 
And pure gold-hearted lilies, 

The fairest, sweetest blossoms that grace the spring-time 
bowers; 
When down the walk came tripping 
A wee, bare-headed girlie, 

Her eyes were filled with wonder, her face was grave and 
sweet; 
Her small brown hands were crowded 
With dandelions yellow — 

The gallant, merry blossoms that children love to greet. 

O, many smiled to see her, 
That dimple-cheeked wee baby, 

Pass by with quaint intentness, as on a mission bound; 
And, pausing oft an instant, 
Let fall from out her treasures 

A yellow dandelion upon each flower-strewn mound. 

The music died in silence, 
A robin ceased its singing, 

And in the fragrant stillness a bird-like whisper grew, 
So sweet, so clear and solemn, 
That smiles gave place to tear-drops: 

" Nan loves 'oo darlin' soldier; an' here's af'ower for 'oo." 



Army of the Potomac. 

remnant of that perished host, 
Eise up! Recross that ghostly shore! 

Advance! Pass in each proud outpost 
And conquer! Conquer as before! 
Aye, conquer, so that nevermore 



288 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

May arm or army dare uprise 

Beneath these star- strewn bannered skies! 

Aye, conquer! So that cycles through 
All earth would sooner lift high hand 
To cleave God's starry blue 
Than the banner of this land. 

And conquer all with love! With hands 

Outstretched as eager brothers reach 
When stormy seas and trackless lands 
Have long divided them, let each 
Man slay his man with love. Aye, teach 
The world the art of war; to know 
That love beats down the bravest foe, 

And that hate shall cease forever, 

And wars forever cease; 
Teach marshaled, piteous Europe 
The victory of peace. 

To you, brave men, Peace makes appeal, 

To you, who know the awful woe 
Of studied war, who bore the steel 
Above that noblest, bravest foe 
That ever fell; saw lifted there 

Pale boyish faces, touched white hands 
That dropped the sword to lift in prayer 
And die along the blood-soaked lands. 
To you Peace makes appeal for peace; 

For only he who bears a scar 
Can know the awful agonies 
That track the trade of war. 

Grim heroes of an age, the dream 

Of Calvary behooves the brave, 
When next your battle banners gleam 

In glad reunion let them wave 
Beyond Potomac's storied stream. 

Recross and meet again the gray! 

Meet there as you meet here to-day. 



Decoration Day. 289 

As June to May, blend blue and gray! 

Strike hands, and hold as honored guest 
Each brave and battered hero 

You last met breast to breast. 



Sleep, Comrades, Sleep. 

H. W. Longfellow. 
Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest 

On this Field of the Grounded Arms, 
"Where foes no more molest, 

Nor sentry's shot alarms ! 

Ye have slept on the ground before, 

And started to your feet 
At the cannon's sudden roar, 

Or the drum's redoubling beat. 

But in this camp of Death 
No sound your slumber breaks; 

Here is no fevered breath — 
No wound that bleeds and aches. 

All is repose and peace; 

Untrampled lies the sod; 
The shouts of battle cease: 

It is the Truce of God ! 

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep ! 

The thoughts of men shall be 
As sentinels to keep 

Your rest from danger free. 

Your silent tents of green 
We deck with fragrant flowers; 

Yours has the suffering been, 
The memory shall be ours. 



290 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Heroes' Day. 

Through the long bending grass 

The white-robed maidens pass, 
With tender faces, and with footsteps soft and slow, 

Upon each lowly grave, 

Where sleeps the true and brave, 
Dropping red roses and wan lilies as they go. 

Flowers for the patriot band 

Who loved their native land: 
Sweet rosemary, and purple pansies, and pale pinks; 

Green leaves from budding trees 

Make sweet the passing breeze — 
Sweet as the elegy the grateful nation thinks. 

For who would not prolong 

With flowers and scent and song 
The memory of those who fell in freedom's fight ? 

From the sweet month of May, 

Then choose the fairest day, 
And crown it for the honored dead with all things bright. 

Then say: " O singing birds, 

Echo these tender words: 
While bosoms nobly throb, and women's eyes are wet, 

While roses bud and blow, 

While stars at evening glow, 
While daylight breaks for us, we never will forget. 

" As long as men shall stand 

For home and native land, 
And while our starry flag flies o'er the true and free, 

Honor and love and truth 

Shall give immortal youth, 
And we 1 !! remember you upon the land and sea." 



Decoration Day. 291 

The Silent Grand Army. 

E. M. H. C. 

Now bring we sweet flowers, bring lilies and roses, 

Bring evergreen wreaths and forget-me-nots blue; 
Bring " pansies for thoughts " of our dearly loved comrades; 

Bring laurels for heroes who ever were true. 
We scarcely can see for our eyes dim with weeping, 

Sad thoughts and sad memories are crowding each breast; 
But we heap high the flowers, the beautiful flowers, 

Where the silent Grand Army is lying at rest. 

We are reading the name on some family tombstone; 

Alas! of the number one green mound they lack, 
And under one name we read this simply graven : 

" He went to the war, and he never came back." 
And far, far away, from all friends and all kindred, 

'Neath a desolate mound with green grasses o'ergrown, 
He sleeps; a plain headstone the lonely spot marking, 

With the mournful inscription, black-lettered, ' ' Unknown. '' 

Some on the battlefield, where they had fallen, 

Gave their lives— what more could anyone give? 
Others in prison-pens, gloomy and loathsome, 

Slowly were starved, that the nation might live. 
All did their work, and it was well done, 

Whether in prison or in battle's wild din; 
They died for the Union their forefathers fought for — 

The silent Grand Army has mustered them in. 

silent Grand Army, though scattered so widely, 

The grass grows above you like a green velvet pall; 
The sunshine by day shines upon you all brightly, 

The same moon and stars by night shine on you all. 
So we in our hearts hold you all, O Grand Army! 

Though silent, and numbered on earth with the dead, 
Your deeds still live on, and will not be forgotten, 

While our glorious banner still floats overhead. 



292 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Red, like the blood which you spilled to defend it; 

White as your faces when laid 'neath the sod, 
Blue as the dome of the heaven you entered 

When your sorely tried spirits returned to their God. 

The years are fast flying, silent Grand Army! 

Not long ere the last who is living to-day 
Will be cradled so gently in Mother Earth's bosom, 

And the living Grand Army shall have all passed away. 
Will you meet us, old comrades, when "over the river " 

The old angel Death shall have carried us all? 
Aye! we'll join in the ranks, true comrades forever, 

When we all answer "Here!" at the final roll-call. 



Decoration Hymn. 

William H. Randall. 

Soldiers ! who freely for our country's glory 
Upheld our flag on Southern hill and plain, 

Long may your deeds be told in grateful story, 
Ye have not lived in vain ! 

Brothers ! who fought for more than empty honor 
That all our land united might be free, 

May shine for evermore upon our banner 
Each star for liberty. 

Heroes ! who toiled through all the dusty marches, 
And life surrendered on those shot-plowed fields, 

To ye who fled where the blue sky o'erarches, 
Tribute a nation yields. 

Your spirits, watching from out heaven's dominions, 
Shall not see lost what ye so dearly bought; 

The shackles that once clogged the eagle's pinions 
Shall not again be wrought. 



Decoration Day. 293 

And now with garlands decorate each dwelling 
Where all that earth could claim serenely sleeps; 

While love, like perfume from the flower upwelling 
Grateful remembrance keeps. 



Memorial Day. 

Margaret Sidney. 
A little window-garden plot, 

Blooming in dusty street, 
Adown which poured the travel 

Of many weary feet; 
A cheery spot of brightness 

Blooming for all to see. 
Oh, that was Blossom's garden-bed, 

Who loved it tenderly. 

At morn, at noon, at even, 

She dealt out faithful care; 
And many buds and flowerets sweet 

Came out with fragrance rare. 
And now, this May-day morning, 

She stood in wealth of bloom 
That beautified and perfumed all 

The quaint, old-fashioned room. 

When suddenly the door was thrown 

Ajar, and there stood Ray. 
" Give us your flowers, do, Blossom, do, 

For Decoration Day." 
She looked around with pretty flush 

Of hurt surprise: "Ah, no; 
You know not what you ask, if you 

Would wish to rob me so." 

" To ro& .you ?" Master Bay in scorn 
Flashed out, then turned away; 

" The soldiers gave their all for you : 
You owe them flowers to-day." 



294 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

" I * owe them flowers. 7 Ah, true, indeed ! 
Dear brother, please forgive. 
Those brave men died on battle-fields 
That we at home might live; 

And I not lay a flower upon 

Their graves in memory sweet ! 
Oh, selfish heart ! I have to mourn 

Ingratitude complete. 
Forgive me, Lord. They shall have all; 

Yes, glad I am to make 
My buds and blossoms into wreaths 

For those dear patriots' sake." 

The May-day sun shone brilliantly; 

All Nature smiled to see 
The honors given to those who died 

In the cause of Liberty; 
But the sweetest gift from loving hands 

Was the bud, and flower, and spray, 
From the little child who gave her all 

On that Memorial Day. 



Our Heroes' Graves. 

When Nature, from her lavish urn, 

Pours forth the fullness of her wealth, 
And flowers in every valley burn, 

Like roses on the cheek of health; 
And when the blossom-laden air 

By springtime's latest breeze is fanned, 
And floats its incense everywhere, 

In billowy fragrance o'er the land— 
We deck the graves of those who bled 

To keep this heritage of ours, 
And for the unforgotten dead 

We dress this festival of flowers. 



Decoration Day. 295 

Rose-wreaths for heroes' deeds we pay, 

And garlands for their deadly strife; 
We deck their graves with flowery spray, 

And give a lily for a life. 
The quiet blossoms from the meads 
Crown well the fever of their deeds, 
While Nature clasps in endless rest 
Her strong-armed darlings to her breast. 

They did their mighty work full well, 

And left it for the years to praise, 
And ages hence our bards shall tell 

Of heroes of those golden days. 
And jealously we guard their fame, 

And pass their shining virtues down, 
As children worthy of their name, 

And heritors of their renown. 
And long shall rise, in hours of need, 

Or when a threatening fate draws near, 
Men of the same strong-hearted breed, 

With untamed souls that know not fear. 
And while are hearts of equal worth 

That love of land or glory stirs, 
Freedom shall dwell upon the earth, 

Amid her loving worshippers; 
And rule in sceptered peace afar, 
From rising sun to evening star, 
A land untrod by foot of slaves, 
But white with blooms on heroes' graves. 



Decoration Day. 

Wallace Bruce. 

We deck to-day each soldier's grave, 
We come with garlands pure and white 

To bind the brows of those who gave 
Their all, to keep our honor bright. 



296 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

We cannot pay the debt we owe; 

They gave their lives that we might live; 
Our warmest words fall far below 

The worship that we fain would give. 

O country, fairest of the free! 

Columbia! name forever blest; 
O lost ' ' Atlantis " of the sea, 

Securely anchored in the West, 

Unfold the flag their hands have borne! 

The shreds of many a well-fought field; 
The stripes alone are rent and torn, 

The stars are there, our sacred shield. 

Those stars are ours because they died; 

The blue is dearer for their sake, 
Who sleep on many a green hillside 

In rank that never more would break. 

For well they wore the color true 
That holds our constellation fair, 

And evermore the " Boys in Blue" 
Shall have a day of rest and prayer. 

Yes, martyred heroes of the free, 
We kneel beside your mounds and pray 

That God our nation's guard may be, 
And comrades' hope from day to day. 

O day baptized in blood and tears! 

The blood was theirs, the tears are ours; 
And children's children, through the years, 

Shall strew their graves with sweetest flowers. 

And May-day garlands all in bloom 
Will quicken other verse than mine, 

And decorate the soldier's tomb 
From Southern palm to Northern pine, 



Decoration Day. 29? 

Flowers for the Brave. 

Celia Thaxter. 

Here bring your purple and gold, 

Glory of color and scent ! 
Scarlet of tulips bold, 

Buds blue as the firmament. 

Hushed is the sound of the fife 

And the bugle piping clear: 
The vivid and delicate life 

In the soul of the youthful year. 

"We bring to the quiet dead, 

With a gentle and tempered grief; 
O'er the mounds so mute we shed 

The beauty of blossoms and leaf. 

The flashing swords that were drawn 

No rust shall their fame destroy ! 
Boughs rosy as rifts of dawn, 

Like the blush on the cheek of joy. 

Kich fires of the gardens and meads, 

We kindle these hearts above. 
What splendor shall match their deeds; 

What sweetness can match our love ? 



For Our Dead. 

Clinton Scollard. 

Flowers for our dead! 

The delicate wild roses, faintly red; 

The valley lily bells, as purely white 

As shines their honor in the vernal light; 

All blooms that be 

As fragrant as their fadeless memory! 

By tender hands entwined and garlanded, 

Flowers for our dead! 



298 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Praise for our dead! 

For those that followed and for those that led, 

Whether they felt death's burning accolade, 

When brothers drew the fratricidal blade, . 

Or closed undaunted eyes 

Beneath the Cuban or Philippine skies! 

While waves our brave, bright banner overhead, 

Praise for our dead! 

Love for our dead! 

O hearts that droop and mourn, be comforted! 

The darksome path through the abyss of pain, 

The final hour of travail not in vain! 

For freedom's morning smile 

Broadens across the seas from isle to isle. 

By reverent lips let this fond word be said: 

Love for our dead! 



FLAG DAY. 



r Flag of Our Country. 

OBERT C. WlNTHROP. 

national flag. He must be cold indeed 
who can look upon its folds, rippling in the breeze, 
without pride of country. If he be in a foreign land, 
the flag is companionship and country itself, with all 
its endearments. 

Who, as he sees it, can think of a state merely? 
Whose eyes, once fastened upon its radiant trophies, 
can fail to recognize the image of the whole nation? 
It has been called a " floating piece of poetry," and 
yet I know not if it have an intrinsic beauty beyond 
other ensigns. Its highest beauty is in what it sym- 
bolizes. It is because it represents all, that all gaze at 
it with delight and reverence. 

It is a piece of bunting lifted in the air; but it 
speaks sublimely, and every part has a voice. Its 
stripes of alternate red and white proclaim the origi- 
nal union of thirteen states to maintain the Declara- 
tion of Independence. Its stars of white on a field of 
blue, proclaim th$t union of states constituting our 
national constellation, which receives a new star with 
every new state. The two together signify union past 
and present. 

The very colors have a language which was officially 
recognized by our fathers. White is for purity, red 



300 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

for valor, blue for justice; aud all together — bunting, 
stripes, stars, and colors, blazing in the sky — make 
the flag of our country to be cherished by all our 
hearts, to be upheld by all our hands. 

I have said enough, and more than enough, to mani- 
fest the spirit in which this flag is now committed to 
your charge. It is the national ensign, pure and sim- 
ple, dearer to all hearts at this moment, as we lift it 
to the gale and see no other sign of hope upon the 
storm cloud which rolls and rattles above it, save 
that which is its own radiant hues — dearer, a thousand 
fold dearer to us all than ever it was before, while 
gilded by the sunshine of prosperity and playing with 
the zephyrs of peace. It will speak for itself far more 
eloquently than I can speak for it. 

Behold it! Listen to it! Every star has a tongue; 
every stripe is articulate. There is no speech nor 
language where their voices are not heard. There is 
magic in the web oj: it. It has an answer for every 
question of duty. It has a solution for every doubt 
and every perplexity. It has a word of good cheer 
for every hour of gloom or of despondency. 

Behold it! Listen to it! It speaks of earlier and 
of later struggles. It speaks of victories and some- 
times of reverses, on the sea and on the land. It 
speaks of patriots and heroes among the living and 
among the dead; and of him, the first and greatest of 
them all, around whose consecrated ashes this un- 
natural and abhorrent strife has been so long raging. 
But, before all and above all other associations and 
memories, — whether of glorious men, or glorious 
deeds, or glorious places, — its voice is ever of Union 
and Libert}', of the Constitution and of the Laws. 



Flag Day. 301 

Our Cherished Flag 

Montgomery. 

Oh, flag of a resolute nation; 

Oh, flag of the strong and free, 
The cherished of true-hearted millions, 

We hallow thy colors three! 
Three proud floating emblems of glory, 

Our guide for the coming time; 
The red, white, and blue, in their beauty — 

Love gives them a meaning sublime. 

Thy red is the deep crimson life-stream 

Which flowed on the battle plain, 
Eedeeming oui land from oppression, 

And leaving no servile stain. 
Thy white- is a proud people's honor, 

Kept spotless and clear as light; 
A pledge of unfaltering justice, 

A symbol of truth and right. 

Thy blue is our nation's endurance, 

And points to the blue above; 
The limitless, measureless azure, 

A type of our Father's love. 
Thy stars are God's witness of blessing, 

And smile at the foeman's frown; 
They sparkle and gleam in their splendor, 

Bright gems in the great world's crown. 



The American Flag. 

Henry Ward Beecher. 

A thoughtful mind, when it sees a nation's flag, 
sees not the flag only, but the nation itself; and 
whatever may be its symbols, its insignia, he reads 



302 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

chiefly in the flag the government, the principles, the 
truths, the history, which belong to the nation. 

When the French tricolor rolls out to the wind, 
we see France. When the new-found Italian flag is 
unfurled, we see resurrected Italy. When the united 
crosses of St. Andrew and St. George, on a fiery 
ground, set forth the banner of old England, we see 
not the cloth merely; there rises up before the mind 
the noble aspect of that monarchy which, more than 
any other on the globe, has advanced its banner for 
liberty, law, and national prosperity. 

This nation has a banner, too; and wherever it 
has streamed abroad, men have seen daybreak bursting 
on their eyes, for the American flag has been the 
symbol of liberty, and men have rejoiced in it. Not 
another flag on the globe had such an errand, or went 
forth upon the sea, carrying everywhere, the world 
around, such hope for the captive and such glorious 
tidings. The stars upon it were to the pining nations 
like the morning stars of God, and the stripes upon it 
were beams of morning light. 

As at early dawn the stars shine forth even while 
it grows light, and then, as the sun advances, that 
light breaks into banks and streaming lines of color, 
the glowing red and intense white, striving together 
and ribbing the horizon with bars effulgent, so, on the 
American flag, stars and beams of many-colored light 
shine out together. And wherever the flag comes, and 
men behold it, they see in its sacred emblazonry no 
rampant lion and no fierce eagle; they see the symbols 
of light. It is the banner of Dawn: it means Liberty. 

Consider the men who devised ami set forth this 
banner; they were men who had taken their lives in 



Flag Day. 303 

their hands, and consecrated all their worldly posses- 
sions — for what? For the doctrine, and for the per- 
sonal fact, of liberty — for the right of all men to 
liberty. 

If anyone, then, asks me the meaning of our 
flag, I say to him — it means just what Concord and 
Lexington meant: what Bunker Hill meant; which 
was, in short, the rising up of a yaliant young people 
against an old tyranny to establish the most momen- 
tous doctrine that the world had eyer known, or has 
since known — the right of men to their own selyes 
and to their liberties. 

The history of this banner is all on the side of 
liberty. Under it, rode "Washington and his armies; 
before it, Burgoyne laid down his arms. It wayed on 
the highlands at West Point; it floated oyer old Fort 
Montgomery. When Arnold would haye surrendered 
those yaluable fortresses and precious legacies, his 
night was turned unto clay, and his treachery was 
driven away, by the beams of light from this starry 
banner. 

It cheered our army, driven from Xew York and 
in their solitary pilgrimage through New Jersey. It 
streamed in light over the soldiers' heads at Valley 
Forge and Morristown. It crossed the waters rolling 
with ice at Trenton; and when its stars gleamed in 
the cold morning with victory, a new day of hope 
dawned on the de-pondency of this nation. And when 
the long years of war were drawing to a close, under- 
neath the folds of this immortal banner sat Washing- 
ton, while Yorktown surrendered its hosts, and our 
Eevolutionary struggles ended with victory. 

How glorious,, then, has been its origin! How 



304 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

glorious has been its history! How divine its mean- 
ing! In all the world is there another banner that 
carries such hope, such grandeur of spirit, such soul- 
inspiring truth, as our dear old American flag? Made 
by liberty, made for liberty, nourished in its spirit, car- 
ried in its service, and never, not once, in all the earth 
made to stoop to despotism! 

Accept it, then, in its fullness of meaning. It 
is not a painted rag. It is a whole national history. 
It is the Constitution. It is the Government. It is the 
free people that stand in the Government, on the Con- 
stitution. Forget not what it means; and, for the 
sake of its meaning, be true to your country's flag. 

Let us, then, twine each thread of the glorious 
tissues of our country's flag about our heartstrings; 
and, looking upon our homes and catching the spirit 
that breathes upon us from the battlefields of our 
fathers, let us resolve, come weal or woe, we will, in 
life and in death, now and forever, stand by the Stars 
and Stripes. They have been unfurled from the snows 
of Canada to the plains of New Orleans, in the halls 
of the Montezumas, and amidst the solitude of every 
sea; and everywhere, as the luminous symbol of re- 
sistless and beneficent power, they have led the brave 
to victory and to glory. They have floated over our 
cradles; let it be our prayer and our struggle that 
they shall float over our graves. 



Flag Day. 305 

The Flag. 

Henry Lynden Flash. 

Up with the banner of the free! 

Its stars and stripes unfurl, 
And let the battle beauty blaze 

Above a startled world. 
No more around its towering staff 

The folds shall twine again, 
Till falls beneath its righteous wrath 

The gonfalon of Spain. 

That flag, with constellated stars, 

Shines ever in the van! 
And, like the rainbow in the storm, 

Presages peace to man ; 
For still, amid the cannon's roar, 

It sanctifies the fight, 
And flames along the battle-lines, 

The emblem of the right. 

It seeks no conquest, knows no fear; 

Cares not for pomp or state; 
As pliant as the atmosphere, 

As resolute as Fate. 
Where'er it floats, on land or sea, 

No stain its honor mars; 
And Freedom smiles, her fate secure 

Beneath its steadfast stars. 



"Rally Round the Flag!" 
A. L. Stone. 

Kinged about with the flame and smoke of rebel 
batteries, one solitary flag went down, torn and 
scathed, on the blackened and battered walls of Sum- 
ter. Then the slumberous fire burst forth and blazed 



306 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

up from the hearts of the people. The painted symbol 
of the national life, under which our populations of 
city and country had walked to and fro with tranquil 
footstep, stirring its peaceful folds with no shouts of 
chivalrous and romantic deference, had been torn 
down and trodden under the feet of traitors. Every 
shred and thread of that mangled symbol was taken 
into the tender baptism of the nation's heart, and 
hallowed by the stern vow of the nation's consecra- 
tion. It was torn down from a single flagstaff, and 
as the tidings of that outrage swept, ringing and 
thrilling through the land, ten thousand banners were 
run up, on every hilltop and in every vale, on church 
towers and armed fortress and peaceful private 
homes, till the heavens over us looked down upon 
more stars than they kept in their own nightly vault, 
and more stripes, white with wrath and red with ven- 
geance, than ever flamed in the east of breaking day. 

And then the cry went forth, " Rally Round the 
Flag, Boys! " and every instrument of martial music 
took up the strain, and church-bells pealed it forth, 
and church choirs sang it as Miriam and Deborah sang 
of old, and mothers chanted it to their sons, and 
young wives gave it forth with dewy eyes and quiver- 
ing lips, and sisters and sweethearts breathed it as a 
tender adieu to the brave lads than whom nothing 
was dearer to them but God and country, and the 
voices gathered into a mighty chorus that swept over 
the New England hills and across the breadth of mid- 
land prairies, and dashed its waves over the summits 
of the mountains, and down these Western slopes, till 
they met and mingled with the waves of the Pacific — 
the full unison echoing here through all your streets 



Flag Day. 307 

and homes: " Bally round the flag, boys; rally once 
again! " 

How well they followed the flag through four fate- 
ful years; how high they lifted it amid the tempest of 
battle; how often they baptized it with brave young 
blood and blessed it, dying; how they bore it on to 
full and final victory, and planted it where we think 
no hand of man shall ever assail it again, is a story 
we need not tell to-day. 

It has been blackened and torn on many a field and 
in many a hurtling storm, but never dishonored. It 
is all the dearer and more sacred for its rents and its 
wounds. And though so mangled and torn, it is still 
one whole flag. All the stars are there. Some of 
them, with mad centrifugal movement, sought to break 
from their orbit and dismember the glorious constel- 
lation. But the centripetal force was mightier yet, 
and held them fast in that indivisible stellar union. 
And coming through such peril of loss, and waving 
above us to-day so restored and complete, it has for 
us and mankind lessons of warning and of hope, of 
fidelity and duty, which are the war's legacy to the 
nation and to history, and which we shall do well to 
learn and to remember. 



No Slave Beneath the Flag. 

George Lansing Taylor. 

No slave beneath that starry flag, 

The emblem of the free! 
No- fettered hand shall wield the brand 

That smites for liberty! 



308 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

No tramp of servile armies 
Shall shame Columbia's shore, 

For he who fights for freedom's rights 
Is free for evermore! 

No slaves beneath these glorious folds 

That o'er our fathers flew, 
When every breath was dark with death, 

But every heart was true! 
No serfs of earth's old empires 

Knelt 'neath its shadow then; 
And they who now beneath it bow 

For evermore are men! 



Go tell the brave of every land, 
Where'er that flag has flown — 

The tyrant's fear, the patriot's cheer, 
Through every clime and zone — 

That now no more forever 
Its stripes are slavery scars; 

No tear-drops stain its azure plain, 



No slave beneath that grand old flag! 

Forever let it fly, 
With lightning rolled in every fold, 

And flashing victory! 
God's blessing breathe around it! 

And, when all strife is done, 
May freedom's light, that knows no night, 

Make every star a sun! 



The Stars and Stripes. 
Titf.he is now no nation] which is not familiar with 
the Stars and Stripes. In the seaports/ of ancient 
// ' . 






Flag Day. 309 

China the star-spangled ensign is known as " the 
flower-flag/ 5 its brilliant dyes suggesting to the fanci- 
ful Chinese a ready figure of speech. So the wander- 
ing Americans are sometimes spoken of as c ' the 
flower-flag people." To millions of men in other lands 
it is an emblem of popular liberty and human rights. 
To us it now means more than ever. It means a flag 
saved \ from dishonor., a nation preserved . from dis- 
union. The good Lincoln used to say during the war 
that though he saw that flag every day, he never re- 
garded it for a moment steadfastly without emotion. 
To him unrepresented (a republic in danger.;; So, to- 
day, as it floats in sunny splendor from numberless 
spires and spars, on land and sea, in pompous folds or 
in the tiny leaflet of the children, we may well regard 
it fondly, as bringing bacld the wonderful history of a 
hundred years. It glitters on the proudest frigate as it 
glittered first on the "Banger" of Paul Jones. It floats 
peacefully from Maine to Alaska, "and from the Lakes 
to the Gulf, as it waved amid shot and shell/on the 
fields where the Eepublic was born and our right to a 
national flag was established. We do well to cherish 
a sentiment of passionate devotion to the Old Flag. / / 
No star is blotted, no stripe erased. It is the glory 
of countless homes. 

And when the wanderer— lonely, friendless — 

In foreign harbors shall behold 

That flag unrolled, 

'Twill be as a friendly hand 

Stretched out from his native land, 
Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless. 



310 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Flower of Liberty. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

What flower is this that greets the morn, 

Its hues from heaven so freshly born? 

With burning star and flaming band 

It kindles all the sunset land; 

O tell us what its name may be — 

Is this the flower of liberty? 
It is the banner of the free, 
The starry flower of liberty! 

In savage nature's far abode 

Its tender seeds our fathers sowed; 

The storm- winds rocked its swelling bud, 

Its opening leaves were streaked with blood, 

Till lo ! earth's tyrants shook to see 

The full-blown flower of liberty! 

Then hail the banner of the free, 
The starry flower of liberty! 

Behold its streaming rays unite, 
One mingling flood of braided light — 
The red that fires the Southern rose, 
With spotless white from Northern rose, 
And, spangled o'er its azure, see 
The sister stars of liberty! 

Then hail the banner of the free, 
The starry flower of liberty! 

The blades of heroes fence it round, 

Where'er it springs is holy ground; 

From tower and dome its glories spread; 

It waves where lonely sentries tread; 

It makes the land as ocean free; 

And plants an empire on the sea! 
Then hail the banner of the free, 
The starry flower of liberty! 



Flag Day. 311 

Thy sacred leaves, fair freedom's flower, 
Shall ever float on dome and tower, 
To all their heavenly colors true, 
In blackening frost or crimson dew; 
And God love us as we love thee— 
Thrice holy flower of liberty ! 

Then hail the banner of the free, 

The starry flower of liberty ! 



Otjr Flag. 
Hexet Ward Beeches. 

In 1TTT, within a few days of one year after the 
Declaration of Independence, the Congress of the Col- 
onies assembled and ordained this glorious national 
flag which we now hold and defend, and advanced it 
full high, before God and all men, as the flag of 
liberty. 

It was no holiday flag, emblazoned for gayety or 
vanity. It was a solemn national signal. TThen that 
banner first unrolled to the sun. it was the symbol of 
all those holy truths and purposes which brought to- 
gether the Colonial American Congress. Our flag 
means, then, all that our fathers meant in the Eevolu- 
tionary War: it means all that the Declaration of In- 
dependence meant: it means all that the constitution 
of our people, organizing for justice, for liberty, and 
for happiness, meant. Our flag carries American ideas, 
American history, and American feelings. Beginning 
with the Colonies and coming down to our time, in its 
sacred heraldry, in its glorious insignia, it has gath- 
ered and stored chiefly this supreme idea — divine right 

liberty in man. Every color means liberty: every 



312 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

thread means liberty; every form of star and beam, or 
stripe of light, means liberty; not lawlessness, not 
license; but organized, institutional liberty — liberty 
through law, and laws for liberty. 



Ode to the American Flag. 

Joseph Rodman Drake. 

When Freedom, from her mountain height, 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there! 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light, 
Then from his mansion in the sun 
She called her eagle-bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud! 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder drum of heaven — 
Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle stroke, 
And bid its blending? shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory ! 



Flag Day. 313 

Flag of the brave! Thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high! 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on 
(Ere yet the life blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet), 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy meteor glories burn, 
And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabers rise and fall, 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall! 
There shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall sink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas! On ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By„angel hands to valor given! 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
And fixed as yonder orb divine, 

That sow thy bannered blaze unfurled, 
Shall thy proud stars resplendent shine, 

The guard and glory of the world. 



314 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Forever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe, but falls before us, 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us I 



JULY FOUETH. 



The Principles of the Revolution. 

JOSIAH QlTINCY. 

When we speak of the glory of our fathers, we 
mean not that vulgar renown to be attained by phys- 
ical strength; nor yet that higher fame, to be acquired 
by intellectual power. Both often exist without lofty 
thought, pure intent, or generous purpose. The glory 
which we celebrate was strictly of a moral and reli- 
gious character: righteous as to its ends; just as to 
its means. 

The American Bevolution had its origin neither in 
ambition, nor avarice, nor envy, nor in any gross pas- 
sion; but in the nature and relation of things, and in 
the thence-resulting necessity of separation from the 
parent state. Its progress was limited by that neces- 
sity. Our fathers displayed great strength and great 
moderation of purpose. In difficult times they con- 
ducted, with wisdom; in doubtful times, with firmness; 
in perilous times, with courage; under oppressive trials 
erect; amidst temptations, unseduced; in the dark 
hour of danger, fearless; in the bright hour of pros- 
perity, faithful. 

It was not the instant feeling and pressure of des- 
potism that roused them to resist, but the principle on 
which that arm was extended. They could have paid 



316 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

the impositions of the British government, had they 
been increased a thousand-fold; but payment acknowl- 
edged right, and they spurned the consequences of 
that acknowledgment. But, above all, they realized 
that those burdens, though light in themselves, would, 
to coming ages — to us, their posterity — be heavy, and 
probably insupportable. They preferred to meet the 
trial in their own times, and to make the sacrifices in 
their own persons, that we and our descendants, their 
posterity, might reap the harvest and enjoy the in- 
crease. 

Generous men, exalted patriots, immortal states- 
men! For this deep moral and social affection, for 
this elevated self-devotion, this bold daring, the mul- 
tiplying millions of your posterity, as they spread 
backward to the lakes, and from the lakes to the 
mountains, and from the mountains to the western 
waters, shall annually, in all future time, come up to 
the temple of the Most High, with song and anthem, 
and thanksgiving; with cheerful symphonies and hal- 
lelujahs, to repeat your names; to look steadfastly on 
the brightness of your glory; to trace its spreading 
rays to the points from which they emanate; and to 
seek in your character and conduct a practical illus- 
tration of public duty in every occurring social exi- 
gency. 



July Fourth. 317 



The Nation's Birthday* 
Mary E. Vandynk 

Ring out the joy bells! Once again, 

With waving flags and rolling drums, 
We greet the Nation's Birthday, when, 

In glorious majesty, it comes. 
Ah, day of days! Alone it stands, 

While, like a halo round it cast, 
The radiant work of patriot hands, 

Shines the bright record of the past. 

Among the nations of the earth, 

What land hath story like our own? 
No thought of conquest marked her birth; 

No greed of power was ever shown 
By those who crossed the ocean wild. 

That they might plant upon her sod 
A home for Peace and Virtue mild, 

And altars rear to Freedom's God. 

How grand the thought that bade them roam! 

Those pilgrim bands, by Faith inspired — 
That bade them leave their cherished home, 

And. with the martyr's spirit fired, 
Guide their frail vessels o'er the main 

Upon the glorious mission bound 
On alien soil a grave to gain, 

Or else a free-born nation found. 

What land has heroes like to ours? 

Their names are as the lightning's gleams, 
When, on the darkling cloud that lowers, 

In blinding majesty it streams. 
Great Washington, the man of faith, 

Who conquered doubt with patient might; 
Warren and Putnam, true till death, 

The " Swamp Fox,'' eager for the fight. 



318 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

See Major Molly's woman hand 

Drive home the murderous cannon-ball; 
How bravely Lydia Darrach planned, 

For home and country risking all. 
A glorious list, and without end; 

Forgotten were both sex and age; 
Their names in radiant luster blend, 

And shine like stars on history's page. 

Like stars to light the firmament, 

And show the world what men may do 
Who, as God's messengers, are sent 

And to their mission still are true. 
No end had they to seek or gain; 

Their work was there before their sight; 
There lay their duty, stern and plain, 

To dare and suffer for the right. 

The right that conquered, and whose power 

Is shown in our broad land to-day; 
Shown in this bright and prosperous hour, 

When peace and plenty gild our way; 
Shown in the glorious song that swells 

The hearts of men from South to North, 
And in its rapturous accents tells 

The story of our glorious Fourth. 



July Fourth 319 

A New National Hymn. 

Francis Marion Crawford. 

Hail, Freedom! thy bright crest 
And gleaming shield, thrice blest, 

Mirror the glories of a world thine own. 
Hail, heaven-born Peace! our sight, 
Led by thy gentle light, 

Shows us the paths with deathless flowers strewn. 
Peace, daughter of a strife sublime, 
Abide with us till strife be lost in endless time. 

Her one hand seals with gold 
The portals of Eight's fold, 

Her other the broad gates of dawn unbars; 
O'er silent wastes of snows, 
Crowning her lofty brows, 

Gleams high her diadem of northern stars; 
While, clothed in garlands of warm flowers, 
Round Freedom's feet the South her wealth of beauty showers. 

Sweet is the toil of peace, 
Sweet is the year's increase, 

To loyal men who live by Freedom's laws; 
And in war's fierce alarms 
God gives stout hearts and arms 

To freemen sworn to save a rightful cause. 
Fear none, trust God, maintain the right, 
And triumph in unbroken Union's might. 

"Welded in war's fierce flame, 
Forged on the hearth of fame, 

The sacred Constitution was ordained; 
Tried in the fire of time, 
Tempered in woes sublime, 

An age was passed and left it yet unstained. 
God grant its glories still may shine, 
"While ages fade, forgotten, in time's slow decline! 



320 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Honor the few who shared 
Freedom's first fight, and dared 

To face war's desperate tide at the full flood; 
Who fell on hard-won ground, 
And into Freedom's wound 

Poured the sweet balsam of their brave hearts' blood. 
They fell; but o'er that glorious grave 
Floats free the banner of the cause they died to save. 

In radiance heavenly fair, 
Floats on the peaceful air 

That flag that never stooped from victory's pride; 
Those stars that softly gleam, 
Those stripes that o'er us stream, 

In war's grand agony were sanctified; 
A holy standard, pure and free, 
To light the home of peace, or blaze in victory. 

Father, whose mighty power 
Shields us through life's short hour, 

To Thee we pray: Bless us and keep us free; 
All that is past forgive; 
Teach us, henceforth, to live 

That, through our country, we may honor Thee; 
And, when this mortal life shall cease, 
Take Thou, at last, our souls to Thine eternal peace. 



Freedom's Natal Dai 
Elizabeth M. Griswold. 

Wake her with the voice of cannon — give her colors to the 

morn! 
Make the day right glorious that saw the nation born ; 
Born to a life supernal, like the bird of storied fame — 
From the ashes of dead empires springs her altar's sacred 

flame. 



July Fourth. 321 

How bright the skies above her! how fair her broad domains! 
How rich the warm life-current that courses through her 

veins! 
Her young brow fronts the nations with a promise half divine, 
From the frozen hills of Norway to the land of oil and wine; 
And Teuton, Celt, and Saxon, cowed down with toil and care, 
With longing eyes look westward, and bless her unaware. 
Wake her with the voice of cannon— fling her colors to the 

breeze, 
From her mountains and her cities, and her ships upon the 

seas, 
And wreathe her shrine with garlands, and crown her brow 

with ivy; 
'Tis the nation's celebration — 'tis freedom's natal day. 



The Declaration of Independence. 

John Quincy Adams. 

The Declaration of Independence! The interest 
which in that paper has survived the occasion upon 
which it was issued; the interest which is of every age 
and every clime; the interest which quickens with the 
lapse of years, spreads as it grows old, and brightens 
as it recedes, is in the principles which it proclaims. 
It was the first solemn declaration, by a nation, of the 
only legitimate foundation of civil government. It 
was the corner stone of a new fabric, destined to cover 
the surface of the globe. It demolished at a stroke 
the lawfulness of all governments founded upon con- 
quest. It swept away all the rubbish of accumulated 
centuries of servitude. It announced in practical form 
to the world the transcendent truth of the inalienable 
sovereignty of the people. It proved that the social 



322 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

compact was no figment of the imagination, but a real, 
solid, and sacred bond of the social union. From the day 
of this declaration the people of North America were 
no longer the fragment of a distant empire, imploring 
justice and mercy from an inexorable master in an- 
other hemisphere. They were no longer children, ap- 
pealing in vain to the sympathies of a heartless mother; 
no longer subjects, leaning upon the shattered col- 
umns of royal promises, and invoking the faith of 
parchment to secure their rights. They were a na- 
tion, asserting as of right, and maintaining by war, its 
own existence. A nation was born in a day. 

How many ages hence 
Shall this, their lofty scene, be acted o'er 
In states unborn, and accents yet unknown ? 

It will be acted o'er, but it never can be repeated. It 
stands, and must forever stand, alone; a beacon on the 
summit of the mountain, to which all the inhabitants 
of the earth may turn their eyes for a genial and sav- 
ing light, till time shall be lost in eternity, and this 
globe itself dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind. It 
stands forever, a light of admonition to the rulers of 
men, a light of salvation and redemption to the op- 
pressed. So long as this planet shall be inhabited by 
human beings, so long as man shall be of a social na- 
ture, so long as government shall be necessary to the 
great moral purposes of society, so long as it shall be 
abused to the purposes of oppression — so long shall 
this Declaration hold out to the sovereign and to the 
subject the extent and boundaries of their respective 
rights and duties, founded in the laws of nature and 
of nature's God. 



July Fourth. 323 

"Fourth of July." 

J. PlERPONT. 

Day of glory! welcome day! 
Freedom's banners greet thy ray; 
See! how cheerfully they play 

"With thy morning breeze, 
On the rocks where pilgrims kneeled, 
On the heights where squadrons wheeled, 
"When a tyrant's thunder pealed 

O'er the trembling seas. 

God of armies! did thy " stars 
On their courses " smite his cars, 
Blast his arm, and wrest his bars 

From the heaving tide? 
On our standard, lo! they burn, 
And, when days like this return, 
Sparkle o'er the soldier's urn 

Who for freedom died. 

God of peace! whose spirit rills 
All the echoes of our hills, 
All the murmur of our rills, 

Now the storm is o'er, 
O let freemen be our sons, 
And let future Washingtons 
Eise, to lead their valiant ones 

Till there's war no more! 



The New Liberty Bell. 
h. B. c. 

Those guests from many climes had often heard 

How Liberty this land possessed, 
And that the tongue of Independence Bell 

"Would never tire, could never rest, 



324 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Yet, lest its lesser size, these later years, 
Should fail to reach all human kind, 

A larger bell was cast, dispelling fears — 
The tale to ever keep in mind. 

As stripes in "starry banner " count thirteen, 

Those first-born States to honor well, 
That many " thousand- weight " was fitly seen 

To rightly gauge in size the bell; 
And, lest no bronze could fill the standard sought, 

All relics prized, of arms or art, 
With eager zest and will were quickly brought, 

As tributes from the people's heart. 

And now this sacred bell hath sounded clear, 

" Strike, strike at will, yc people, all! " 
And, ' ' Winds, oh, quickly reach the Father's ear, 

With humblest prayer and faintest call. 
Sound deep within each anxious, waiting soul 

That hence shall homeward quickly go, 
And cheer its onward way to Freedom's goal, 

Where streams of mercy ever flow." 

Then let each soul, with faith, in earnest vow 

For peace, fraternity, and right, 
That all the earth, with joy, may humbly bow, 

And pledge to Liberty their plight. 
So shall each stroke on vocal, mellow bell 

Give tone to life and strength to prayer; 
The accents reach the skies, where angels dwell, 

And God, who dwelleth everywhere. 

As stricken wave, its motion, never lost, 

Is felt on farthest shore; 
As new-born star, its light forever speeds, 

Though time shall be no more; 
As thought, while body rests, outreaches space, 

To grasp its destiny — 
So shall thy strokes, bell ! be carried on 

And ring eternally. 



July Fourth. 325 

The Signing of the Declaration. 

George Lippard. 

It is a cloudless summer day; a clear blue sky arches 
and expands above a quaint edifice rising among the 
giant trees in the center of a wide city. oThat edifice 
is built of plain red brick, with heavy window frames, 
and a massive hall door. 

Such is the State House of Philadelphia in the year 
of our Lord 1776. 

In yonder wooden steeple, which crowns the summit 
of that red brick state house, stands an old man with 
snow-white hair and sunburnt face. He is clad in 
humble attire, yet his eye gleams as it is fixed on the* 
ponderous outline of the bell suspended in the steeple 
there. By his side, gazing into his sunburnt face in 
wonder, stands a flaxen-haired boy, with laughing eyes 
of summer blue. The old man ponders for a moment 
upon the strange words written upon the bell, then, 
gathering the boy in his arms, he speaks: " Look here, 
my child; will you do this old man a kindness? 
Then hasten down the stairs, and wait in the hall be- 
low till a man gives you a message for me; when he 
gives you that word, run out into the street and shout 
it up to me. Do you mind?" The boy sprang from 
the old man's arms and threaded his way down the 
dark stairs. 

Many minutes passed. The old bell-keeper was 
alone. " Ah! " groaned the old man, " he has forgotten 
me/' As the word was upon his lips a merry, ringing 
laugh broke on his ear. And there, among the crowd 
on the pavement, stood the blue-eyed boy, clapping his 
tiny hands while the breeze blew his flaxen hair all 



326 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

about his face, and, swelling his little chest, he raised 
himself on tiptoe, and shouted the single word, 
" Eing! " 

Do you see that old man's eye fire? Do you see that 
arm so suddenly bared to the shoulder? Do you see 
that withered hand grasping the iron tongue of the 
bell? That old man is young again. His veins are fill- 
ing with a new life. Backward and forward, with 
sturdy strokes, he swings the tongue. The bell peals 
out; the crowds in the street hear it, and burst forth 
in one long shout. Old Delaware hears it, and gives it 
back on the cheers of her thousand sailors. The city 
hears it, and starts up from desk and workshop, as if 
an earthquake had spoken. 

Under that very bell, pealing out at noonday, in an 
old hall, fifty-six traders, farmers, and mechanics had 
assembled to break the shackles of the world. The 
committee, who have been out all night, are about to 
appear. At last the door opens, and they advance to 
the front. The parchment is laid on the table. Shall 
it be signed or not? Then ensues a high and stormy 
debate. Then the faint-hearted cringe in corners. 
Then Thomas Jefferson speaks his few bold words, 
and John Adams pours out his whole soul. 

Still there is a doubt; and that pale-faced man. ris- 
ing in one corner, squeaks out something about " axes, 
scaffolds, and a gibbet." A tall, slender man rises, and 
his dark eye burns, while his words ring through the 
halls: "Gibbets! They may stretch our necks on every 
scaffold in the land. They may turn every rock into a 
gibbet, every tree into a gallows; and yet the words 
written on that parchment can never die. They may 
pour out our blood on a thousand altars, and yet, from 



July Fourth 327 

every drop that dyes the ax, or drips on the sawdust 
of the block, a new martyr to freedom will spring into 
existence. What! are there shrinking hearts and fal- 
tering voices here, when the very dead upon our bat- 
tlefields arise and call upon us to sign that parchment, 
or be accursed forever? 

" Sign! if the next moment the gibbet's rope is 
around your neck. Sign! if the next moment this hall 
ring with the echo of the falling ax. Sign! by all 
your hopes in life or death, as husbands, as fathers, as 
men! Sign your names to that parchment. 

"Yes! were my soul trembling on the verge of eter- 
nit}r; were this voice choking in the last struggle, I 
would still, with the last impulse of that soul, with the 
last gasp of that voice, implore you to remember this 
truth: God has given America to the free. Yes! as I 
sink down in the gloomy shadow of the grave, with 
my last breath I would beg of you sign that parch- 
ment." 



Our National Anniversary. 
A. H. Rice. 

We celebrate to-day no idle tradition — the deeds of 
no fabulous race; for we tread in the scarcely oblit- 
erated footsteps of an earnest and valiant generation 
of men, who dared to stake life, and fortune, and 
sacred honor, upon a declaration of rights, whose pro- 
mulgation shook tyrants on their thrones, gave hope to 
fainting freedom, and reformed the political ethics of 
the world. 

The greatest heroes of former days have sought re- 
nown in schemes of conquest, based on the love of 



328 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

dominion or the thirst for war; and such had been the 
worship of power in the minds of men, that adulation 
had ever followed in the wake of victory. How daring 
then the trial of an issue between a handful of op- 
pressed and outlawed colonists, basing their cause, 
under God, upon an appeal to the justice of mankind 
and their own few valiant arms. And how immeas- 
urably great was he, the fearless commander, who, 
after the fortunes and triumphs of battle were over, 
scorned the thought of a regal throne for a home in 
the hearts of his count^men. Amidst the rejoicings 
of this day, let us mingle something of gratitude with 
our joy — something of reverence with our gratitude — 
and something of duty with our reverence. 

Let us cultivate personal independence in the spirit 
of loyalty to the State, and may God grant that we 
may always be able to maintain the sovereignty of the 
State in the spirit of integrity to the Union 

Whatever shall be the fate of other govern- 
ments, ours thus sustained, shall stand for ever. As 
has been elsewhere said, nation after nation may rise 
and fall, kingdoms and empires crumble into ruin, but 
our own native land, gathering energy and strength 
from the lapse of time, shall go on and still go on its 
destined way to greatness and renown. And when 
thrones shall crumble into dust, when scepters and 
diadems shall have been forgotten, till heaven's last 
thunder shall shake the world below, the flag of the 
Eepublic shall still wave on, and its Stars, its Stripes, 
and its Eagle, shall still float in pride, and strength, 
and glory, 

" Whilst the earth bears a plant, 
Or the sea rolls a wave," 



LABOR DAY. 



Idleness a Crime. 
Hexby B. Cabeixgtox. 

A fallacy lies at the root of the labor question: 
that iSj the illogical admission that a man has a right 
to be idle, if he so prefer. The choice of employment 
and the right to demand a just wage for work done 
do not rest upon a dogma so pernicious. The law 
of labor is an inherent obligation, as well as a neces- 
sity. Personal self-support, to the extent of personal 
ability, is a duty. Individual support at the expense 
of others violates the principle that aggregated labor 
is essential to the public good. The aggregate of pro- 
tection which society insures is the measure of the ob- 
ligation which exacts willing industry, and makes vol- 
untary idleness a crime. This is not a question of 
morals or ethics, but every just code of laws demands 
that every man should share in the protection of all, 
and in the protection of the rights of all, as well as 
his own. Xo citizen is exempt from a summons to 
the national defense. He is equally required to con- 
tribute to the common good, through the equally im- 
portant ordinary relations with which everyday labor 
is allied. 

Obedience to law is a paramount obligation, or an- 
archy ensues; and anarchy is simple madness. Optional 



330 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

obedience to law is a senseless paradox. There is no 
right of choice here. At the instant a man says, " I 
will be idle, and take the consequences," he becomes 
dependent upon others, and forces them to do for him 
that which he is bound to do for himself. Even the 
readiness of the subject of law to bear the penalty of 
its infraction does not convert the wrong to' right. 

This position must not be misunderstood. Delay to 
work, pending terms and conditions, is a matter of 
judgment or contract, incident to the changing re- 
lations of labor and product; but it may be protracted 
until it becomes suicidal and ruinous. A margin must 
be conceded to reasonable competition, and the desire 
of all men to get the best out of the same relative 
labor; but a failure to reach the full measure of satis- 
faction desired must not efface the purpose to realize 
the best attainable results. 

Innocent idleness is a practicable impossibility. To 
see a man drown, and decline to rescue, is, substan- 
tially, to drown him. Cessation of labor, for rest, or 
change of terms or conditions, is rational and honora- 
ble. In any other sense, idleness involves a condition 
of actual violence to all faithful workers. Mental 
faculties and physical forces will not lie dormant. 
Remove the incentives to labor for justly attainable 
ends, and at once all the animal elements, which have 
been softened and subjected through legitimate exercise, 
will assert their presence and their power to harm. 
The idle element will tear down, but never rebuild! 
Even if the popular fallacy that a man may work or 
not, at his pleasure, had a technical basis of merit, it 
loses all proper recognition when it asserts a claim to 
suspend other labor than his own. No despotism on 



Labor Day. 331 

earth is so destructive as the sway of a multitude 
which asserts its voice, and demands recognition with- 
out the sanction of law. And this is equally true in 
all social grades. The idleness of those without 
means is matched by the profligacy of such as have 
abundant means, but live only for self and passion. 
Neither can excuse the mischief done, and neither can 
impart substantial good to individual or society. 

The spirit of sound law is equally repressive of vio- 
lent invasion of the rights of honest acquisition. The 
industrious will always save! The improvident will 
always waste! The motive to industry must be acqui- 
sition, for future use, or human life would be more 
abject than that of animal instinct. Accumulated re- 
sources are only to be valued for their uses, and en- 
forced inactivity of those resources cripples many who 
live upon their distributions to society. It is not to be 
unnoticed that hoarded acquisitions rapidly segregate 
themselves in this country, so that the names once 
associated with large acquisitions are soon found at 
the beginning-point again. This harmonizes with the 
theory of free, honest, and patient labor. The highest 
type of social and domestic happiness, in any Chris- 
tian civilization, is found among the classes whose 
prosperity depends upon faithful industry. False 
gauges are those which declare acquisition, for its own 
sake, to be the true test or measure of success. Uni- 
formity of acquisition, or wage, is equally incompati- 
ble with the very type of mental and physical skill 
which energizes labor. No arbitrary wage relations 
can be made uniform, or independent of changing 
times and conditions. In no other country can na- 
tional good and happiness be so directly secured to 



332 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

individual effort. Emigrants do not realize at once 
that, as a rule, substantial independence is obtainable 
by honest industry, and that the acquisition is then 
safe. A changeable wage rate is unavoidable. 

A wise adjustment will be proportionate to the har- 
mony between realized labor and expectant labor. The 
former is simply capital. At sunset, the industrious 
man has realized capital, by the difference of the meas- 
ure of profit over expense. The thriftless and idler 
are in arrears! The contrast will deepen daily; but 
the fact is only made more definite, that there will al- 
ways be remunerative wage for all who work cheer- 
fully and faithfully by and up to the measure of de- 
mand. Extraordinary conditions demand extraordi- 
nary and mutual fraternities, so that both capital and 
labor may adjust their relations to the highest se- 
curity, order, peace, and happiness of all. 



The Dignity of Labor. 

The sun is setting, and the toiler halts. 

Across the furrows, shadowed by the rays 

That fleck the fields in lines of burnished gold, 

The smoke from out his cottage chimney curls 

In lazy clouds and fades away in air; 

His hand drops from the plow; he waits a while 

And lets the cool breath of the twilight blow 

Across his face a moment, as he stands 

Foot deep in stubble but that moment turned. 

Then, starting off his horses to their hay, 

Smiles and moves on to meet his welcome home. 

And what a wealth of welcome! From the door 
Two little ones, blue-eyed and flaxen-haired, 






Labor Day. 333 

Leap out toward him, shouting all the while; 
Within, the boarded kitchen walls throw back 
A kindly glow, and, in the gleam, he sees 
The table, with the simple supper spread; 
And then his wife, lighting the evening lamp. 
After the meal a happy hour goes by 
With babies prattling gayly on his knees; 
Later, to rest, a peaceful, dreamless sleep, 
Until the rising sun proclaims the day. 

The pomp of kings, the pride of place, and all 

The cursed, madding race for wealth and power — 

What mean they to this man? Himself a king, 

Content to humbly earn his daily bread, 

To watch the glow of health on childhood's cheek; 

To note the love-light in a mother's eye; 

Year in, year out, to plow his plot of earth. 

No centuries of silence need he wait 

To make reply to God, but daily thanks 

His Maker for his manhood and his bread; 

His place in life's grim struggle fixed and sure. 

Away in those far cities, whose fierce hum 

Dies to a feeble murmur in the fields, 

The spirits of unrest in human shape 

Flit through the caverns of despair and woe, 

Frail leaves upon life's swollen, sullen stream, 

No will for honest labor, and no hand 

To help them to the pathway that they crave; 

Drifting in aimless eddies, here and there, 

Seeking in vain a glimpse of fortune's smile; 

Making a false ambition take the place 

Of love and hope, and so they live and die! 



334 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

No Excellence without Labor. 

William Wikt. 

The moral and intellectual education of every indi- 
vidual must be chiefly his own work. Eely upon it 
that the ancients were right, that in morals and in 
intellect we give the final shape to our own fortunes. 
How else could it happen that young men who have 
had precisely the same opportunities, should be con- 
tinually presenting us with such different results, and 
rushing to such opposite destinies? 

Differences of talent will not solve it, because that 
very difference is often in favor of the disappointed 
candidate. You shall see issuing from the halls of 
the same college, — nay, sometimes from the bosom of 
the same family, — two young men, of whom the one 
shall be admitted to be a genius of high order, the 
other scarcely above the point of mediocrity; and yet 
you shall see the former sinking and perishing in pov- 
erty, obscurity, and wretchedness, while, on the other 
hand, you shall observe the latter plodding his slow 
bat sure way up the hill of life, gaining steadfast 
footing at every step, and mounting at length to emi- 
nence and distinction, an ornament to his family, a 
blessing to his country. 

Now, whose work is this? Manifestly their own. 
They are the architects of their respective fortunes. 
The best seminary that can open its portals to you 
can do no more than afford you the opportunity of 
instruction. It must depend, at last, upon yourselves, 
whether you will be instructed or not, or to what point 
you will push your education. It may be declared as 
the result of observation that it is a settled truth that 



Labor Day. 335 

there is no peal excellence without great lahor. This 
is a fiat from which no power of genius can absolve 
yon. Genius, unexerted, is like the poor moth that 
flutters around the candle, till it scorches itself to 
death. If genius be desirable at all, it is only of that 
great and magnanimous kind, which, like the condor 
of South America, pitches from the mountains of 
Chimborazo above the clouds, and sustains itself at 
pleasure in that empyreal region, with an energy 
rather invigorated than weakened by the effort. It is 
this capacity for high and continued exertion, this 
vigorous power of profound and searching investiga- 
tion, this wide-spreading comprehension of mind, and 
these long reaches of thought that: 

" Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And drag up honor by the locks." 

This is the prowess, and these the hardy achieve- 
ments, which are to enroll your names among the 
great men of the earth. 



Toil. 



There^s a never-dying chorus 

Breaking on the human ear; 
In the busy town before us, 

Voices loud, and deep, and clear. 
This is labor's endless ditty; 

This is toil's prophetic voice, 
Sounding through the town and city, 

Bidding human hearts rejoice. 



336 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Sweeter than the poet's singing 

Is that anthem of the free; 
Blither is the anvil's ringing 

Than the song of bird or bee. 
There's a glory in the rattle 

Of the wheels 'mid factory gloom; 
Richer than e'er snatched from battle 

Or the trophies of the loom. 

See the skillful mason raising 

Gracefully yon towering pile; 
Kound the forge and furnace blazing, 

Stand the noble men of toil. 
They are heroes of the people, 

Who the wealth of nations raise; 
Every dome, and spire, and steeple 

Raise their heads in labor's praise. 

Glorious men of truth and labor, 

Shepherds of the human fold, 
That shall lay the brand and saber 

With the barbarous things of old. 
Priests and prophets of creation, 

Bloodless heroes in the fight, 
Toilers for the world's salvation, 

Messengers of peace and light. 

Speed the plow and speed the harrow; 

Peace and plenty send abroad; 
Better far the spade and barrow 

Than the cannon or the sword, 
Each invention, each improvement, 

Renders weak oppression's rod; 
Every sign and every movement 

Brings us nearer truth and God. 



Labor Day. 337 

Opportunity to Labor. 

Thomas Brackett Keed. 

What seemed the great primeval curse that in the 
sweat of his face should man eat bread has been found, 
in the wider view of the great cycles of the Almighty, 
to be the foundation of all sound hope, all sure 
progress, and all permanent power. Man no longer 
shuns labor as his deadliest foe, but welcomes it as his 
dearest friend. Nations no longer dream of riches 
as the spoils of war, but as the fruits of human energy 
directed by wise laws and encouraged by peace and 
good will. Battlements and forts and castles, armies 
and navies, are day by day less and less the enginery 
of slaughter, and more and more the guarantee of 
peace with honor. What the world longs for now 
is not the pageantry and devastation of war for the 
aggrandizement of the few, but the full utilization of 
all human energy for the benefit of all mankind. 

Give us but the opportunity to labor, and the 
whole world of human life will burst into tree and 
flower. 

To the seventy-five millions of people who make up 
this great Kepublic, the opportunity to labor means 
more than to all the world besides. It means the devel- 
opment of resources great beyond the comprehension 
of any mortal, and the diffusion among all, of the riches 
to which the glories of " The Arabian Mghts " are 
but the glitter of the pawnshop, and to which the 
sheen of all the jewels of this earth are but the gleam 
of the glowworm in the pallor of the dawn. 

To develop our great resources, it is the one prime 
necessity that all our people should be at work; that 



838 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

all the brain and muscle should be in harmonious ac- 
tion, united in their endeavors to utilize the great forces 
of nature and to make wealth out of senseless matter 
and out of all the life which begins with the cradle 
and ends with the grave, and out of all the powers 
which ebb and flow in the tides of the ocean, in the 
rush of the rivers, and out of the great energies which 
are locked up in the bosom of the earth. 



Work. 

Thomas Carlyle. 

There is a perennial nobleness, and even sacred- 
ness, in work. Were a man ever so benighted, or for- 
getful of his high calling, there is always hope in him 
who actually and earnestly works; in idleness alone is 
there perpetual despair. Consider how, even in the 
meanest sort of labor, the whole soul of a man is com- 
posed into real harmony. He bends himself with free 
valor against his task; and doubt, desire, sorrow, re- 
morse, indignation, despair itself, shrink murmuring, 
far off into their caves. The glow of labor in him is 
a purifying fire, wherein all poison is burnt up; and 
of smoke itself there is made a bright and blessed 
flame. 

Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask 
no other blessedness; he has a life purpose. Labor is 
life. From the heart of the worker rises the celestial 
force, breathed into him by Almighty God, awakening 
him to all nobleness, to all knowledge. Hast thou 
valued patience, courage, openness to light, or readi- 
ness to own thy mistakes? In wrestling with the dim, 



Labor t)ay. 839 

brute powers of Fact, thou wilt continually learn. For 
every noble work, the possibilities are diffused through 
immensity — undiscoverable, except to Faith. 

Man, son of Heaven! is there not in thine inmost 
heart a spirit of active method, giving thee no rest till 
thou unfold it? Complain not. Look up, wearied 
brother. See thy fellow-workmen surviving through 
eternity — the sacred band of immortals! 



Knights of Labor, 
t. v. powdekly. 

We are Knights of Labor because we believe that 
law and order should prevail, and that both should 
be founded in equity. We are Knights of Labor be- 
cause we believe that the thief who steals a dollar is 
no worse than the thief who steals a railroad. To 
remedy the evils we complain of, is a difficult and dan- 
gerous undertaking. The need of strong hearts and 
active brains was never so great as at the present time. 
The slavery that died twenty-two years ago was ter- 
rible, but the lash in the hand of the old-time slave 
owner could strike but one back at a time, and but 
one of God's poor, suffering children felt the stroke. 
The lash of gold in the hands of the new slave owner 
falls not upon one slave alone, but upon the backs of 
millions, and among the writhing, tortured victims, 
side by side with the poor and the ignorant, are to be 
found the well-to-do and the educated. 

The power of the new slave owner does not end 
when the ordinary day laborer bends beneath his rule; 
it reaches out still further, and controls the mechanic, 



S40 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

the farmer, the merchant, and the manufacturer. It 
dictates not alone what the price of labor shall he, 
but regulates the price of money as well. Do I over- 
estimate its power? Have I made a single misstate- 
ment? If my word is not sufficient, turn to the pages 
of the history of to-day, — the public press, — and you 
will find the testimony to prove that what I have said, 
is true. The lash was stricken from the hand of the 
slave owner of twenty-five years ago, and it must be 
taken from the hand of the new slave owner as well. 
The monopolist of to-day is more dangerous than the 
slave owner of the past. Monopoly takes the land from 
the people in million-acre plots; it sends its agents 
abroad, and brings hordes of uneducated, desperate 
men to this country; it imports ignorance, and scatters 
it broadcast throughout the land. While I condemn 
and denounce the deeds of violence committed in the 
name of labor during the present year, I am proud to 
say that the Knights of Labor, as an organization, is 
not in any way responsible for such conduct. He is 
the true Knight of Labor who with one hand clutches 
anarchy by the throat and with the other strangles 
monopoly. 

The man who still believes in the "little red school- 
house on the hill" should take one holiday and visit 
the mine, the factory, the coal breaker, and the mill. 
There, doing the work of men, he will find the future 
citizens of the Republic, breathing an atmosphere of 
dust, ignorance, and vice! The history of our country 
is not taught within these walls. The struggle for 
independence and causes loading to that struggle, are 
not spoken of there; the name of Washington is un- 
known, and the words that rang out trumpet- tongued 



Labor Day. 341 

from the lips of Patrick Henry are never mentioned. 
The " little red schoolhouse " mnst fail to do its work 
properly, since the children of the poor must pass it 
by on the road to the workshop. How can they ap- 
preciate the duties of citizenship when we do not take 
the trouble to teach them that to be an American 
citizen is greater than to be a king, and that he upon 
whom the mantle of citizenship is bestowed should 
part with his life before surrendering one jot or tittle 
of the rights and liberties which belong to him? 

Turn away from these hives of industry, stand for a 
moment on a street corner, and you will see gayly 
caparisoned horses driven by a coachman in livery; a 
footman, occupying his place at the rear of the coach, 
is also dressed in the garb of the serf. On the coach 
door you will find the crest or coat of arms of the 
illustrious family to whom it belongs. If you speak to 
the occupant of the coach concerning our country, 
her institutions, or her flag, you will be told that they 
do not compare with those of foreign countries. The 
child who graduates from the workshop dons the 
livery of a slave, covers his manhood, and climbs to 
the footman's place on the outside of the coach. The 
man who apes the manners and customs of foreign 
noblemen occupies the inside. The one who with 
strong heart and willing hands would defend the 
rights and liberties of his country has never learned 
what these rights or liberties are. The other does 
know, but has learned to love the atmosphere of 
monarchy better than that which he breathes in this 
land. Between these two our freedom is in danger, and 
that is why we as Knights of Labor most emphatically 
protest against the introduction of the child to the 



342 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

workshop until he has attained his fourteenth year, 
so that he may be enabled to secure for himself the 
benefits of an education that will enable him to un- 
derstand and appreciate the blessings of our free in- 
stitutions and, if necessary, defend them with his life. 



Labor. 

Kev. Orville Dewey. 
To some field of labor, mental or manual, every idler 
should fasten, as a chosen and coveted theater of im- 
provement. But so he is not impelled to do, under the 
teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, 
he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in his 
idleness. This way of thinking is the heritage of the 
absurd and unjust feudal system under which serfs la- 
bored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and 
feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were 
done away. Ashamed to toil, art thou ? Ashamed of 
thy dingy work-shop and dusty labor-field ; of thy hard 
hand scarred with service more honorable than that of 
war ; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on 
which Mother Nature has embroidered, midst sun and 
rain, midst fire and steam, her own heraldic honors ? 
Ashamed of these tokens and titles, and envious of the 
flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity ? It is 
treason to nature ; it is impiety to Heaven ; it is break- 
ing Heaven's great ordinance. Toil, I repeat — toil, 
either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the 
only true manhood, the only true nobility. 



THANKSGIVING. 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 

It was not until the late civil war that this day be- 
came in any sense a National one. Until that time its 
observance was confined almost exclusively to New Eng- 
land. But the proclamation of President Johnson, Nov. 
2, 1865, appointing a day for national thanksgiving, was 
indorsed by similar proclamations from the governors of 
all the States not of the late Confederacy, and since then 
the festival has steadily increased in pojoular favor, 
though many Southern States have been slow in its ob- 
servance. Now that its appointment comes from a Dem- 
ocratic President, — the first one ever issued from such a 
source, — it is probable that it will be more generally re- 
garded than ever before in our history. • And this is one 
of the good signs of the times. It is well that one day 
of the year be given to the reunion of families, to the 
gathering together of scattered friends, and to rejoicing 
over the bounties of Providence. 



Thanksgiving among the Greeks. 

The Greeks held the grandest feast of all the year in 
honor of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest ; and the 
Eomans, who borrowed most of their customs from the 
Grecians, also held a grand celebration in honor of the 
same goddess, whose name they changed to Ceres. They 



344 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

went in long processions to the fields, where they en- 
gaged in rustic sports, and crowned all of their house- 
hold gods with flowers. Both of these feasts were held 
in September. 



Thanksgiving among the Jews. 

Three thousand years ago witnessed the Jewish Feast 
of Tabernacles, with its magnificent rituals, melodious 
choirs, and picturesque festivities. For eight days the 
people ceased their work, to "eat, drink, and be merry." 
During the time millions gathered in and around Jeru- 
salem, for several days, living in booths formed of the 
branches of the olive, pine, myrtle, and palm, and deco- 
rated with fruits and flowers. Grand public pageants 
were held, and in addition to these every household had 
its worship, its sacrifice, and its banquet. 



The First English Thanksgiving in New York. 

But the Dutch went, and the English came — and they 
came to stay. On the possession of New Netherland by 
the English, Edmund Andros being Governor, the Coun- 
cil sitting on June 7, 1675, ordered : 

"That Wednesday ye 23d of this Instant month, be 
appointed throughout ye government a day of Thanks- 
giving and Prayers to Almighty God for all His Past 
Deliverances and Blessings and Present Mercies to us, 
and to Pray ye continuance and Encrease thereof." 



Thanksgiving. 345 

How the Pilgrims gave Thanks. 

The Pilgrim Fathers, after ten months of sickness 
and suffering, gathered in their first harvest, which con- 
sisted of twenty acres of corn, and six of barley and peas 
— enough to keep them supplied with food for the coming 
year. For this they devoutly thanked God, and made 
preparations for a feast. Hunters were sent out to pro- 
cure the thanksgiving dinner, and returned with water- 
fowl, wild turkey, and venison. Then the feast was 
prepared, and Massasoit and ninety of his warriors were 
present. On the following year there was such a long 
drought that the corn and barley were stunted, and fam- 
ine seemed to stare them in the face. A day of fasting 
and prayer was appointed, and for nine hours the people 
prayed unceasingly. At evening the sun set in clouds, 
a breeze sprang up, and in the morning the rain was 
pouring down. The crops revived, and there was a boun- 
teous harvest. For this a day of thanksgiving was or- 
dered by Governor Bradford. 

The history of this first thanksgiving is recorded as 
follows: 

" Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four 
men out a-f owling that we might, after a special manner, 
rejoice together after we had the fruit of our labor. 
They four, in one day, killed as much fowl as, with a 
little help beside, served the company almost a week. 
At that time, among other recreations, we exercised our 
arms, many of the Indians coming among us, and among 
the rest, their greatest king, Massasoit, with some ninety 
men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, 
and they went out and killed five deer, which they 
brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor 
and upon the captain and others. And although it be 



346 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet 
by the goodness of God we are so far from want that we 
often wish you partakers of our plenty." 



The First National Thanksgiving. 

The immediate occasion of the first thanksgiving was 
the surrender of General Burgoyne to General Gates, in 
the fall of 1777. Thursday, the 18th of December, was 
designated, and, in compliance with the order of Congress, 
the army at Valley Forge duly observed the day — the 
army that had tracked its way in blood. It was ordered 
by the Continental Congress. 



Washington's Proclamation. 

Washington, as President of the United States, is- 
sued his first proclamation for the observance of a day 
of thanksgiving at the city of New York on the 3d of 
October, 1789, setting apart Thursday, the 26th day of 
November of that year, "to be devoted by the people of 
these States to the service of that great and glorious 
Being who is the beneficent Author of all the good that 
was, that is, or that will be," etc. His second prot Ju- 
mation, dated at the city of Philadelphia, January 1. 
1795, designated Thursday, November 26, as a day t./ be 
observed for a general thanksgiving by the people of 
the United States. 

Governor John Jay, of New York, thought so well of 
Thanksgiving Day, that he determined to have one of 
his own, and accordingly designated Thursday, Novem- 
ber 26, 1795. 



Thanhs giving. 347 

The Fiast Boston Thanksgiving— July, 1630. 

[For Concert and Solo Recitation.] 

Hezekiah Butterworth. 

Solo. " Praise ye the Lord !" The psalm to-day 
That rises on our ears 
Rolls from the hills of Boston Bay 
Through five times fifty years — 
When Winthrop's fleet from Yarmouth crept 

Out to the open main, 
And through the widening waters swept 
In April sun and rain, 
Conceit. "Pray to the Lord with fervent lips," 
The leader shouted, " pray; ' 
And prayer arose from all the ships, 
As fadeth Yarmouth Bay. 

Solo. They passed the Scilly Isles that day, 
And May days came, and June, 
And thrice upon the ocean lay 

The full orb of the moon. 
And as that day, on Yarmouth Bay, 

Ere England sunk from view, 
While yet the rippling Solent lay 
In April skies of blue, 
Concert. ' " Pray to the Lord with fervent lips," 
Each morn was shouted, "pray;" 
And prayer arose from all the ships, 
As first in Yarmouth Bay. 

Solo. Blew warm the breeze o'er Western seas, 

Through Maytime morns and June, 
Till hailed these souls the Isles of Shoals, 

Low, 'neath the summer moon; 
And as Cape Ann arose to view, 

And Norman's Woe they passed, 
The wood-doves came the white mist through 

And circled round each mast. 



348 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Concert. " Pray to the Lord with fervent lips," 
Then called the leader, " pray;" 
And prayer arose from all the ships, 
As first in Yarmouth Bay. 

Solo. The white wings folded, anchors down, 
The sea- worn fleet in line; 
Fair rose the hills where Boston town 

Should rise from clouds of pine; 
Fair was the harbor, summit-walled, 
And placid lay the sea. 
" Praise ye the Lord," the leader called; 
" Praise ye the Lord," spake he. 
Concert. " Give thanks to God with fervent lips, 
Give thanks to God to-day. " 
The anthem rose from all the ships, 
Safe moored in Boston Bay. 

Solo. That psalm our fathers sung we sing, 
That psalm of peace and wars, 
While o'er our heads unfolds its wing, 

The flag of forty stars ; 
And while the nation finds a tongue 

For nobler gifts to pray, 
'Twill ever sing the song they sung 
That first Thanksgiving Day: 
Concert. " Praise ye the Lord with fervent lips, 
Praise ye the Lord to-day." 
So rose the song from all the ships, 
Safe moored in Boston Bay. 

Concert. Ho ! vanished ships from Yarmouth's tide, 
Ho ! ships of Boston Bay, 
Your prayers have crossed the centuries wide 
To this Thanksgiving Day ! 

We pray to God with fervent lips, 

We praise the Lord to-day, 
As prayers arose from Yarmouth ships, 
But psalms from Boston Bay. 



Thanksgiving. 349 

The First Thanksgiving Proclamation Issued by 
George Washington. 

Whereas, it is the duty of all nations to acknowl- 
edge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His 
will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to 
implore His protection and favor, and; 

Whereas, both Houses of Congress have, by their 
joint committee, requested me " to recommend to the 
people of the United States a day of public thanksgiv- 
ing and prayer, to be observed by acknowledging with 
grateful hearts the many and signal favors of Al- 
mighty God, especially by affording them an oppor- 
tunity peaceably to establish a form of government 
for their safety and happiness " ; 

Now, therefore, I do recommend and assign Thurs- 
day, the 26th Day of November Next, to be devoted 
by the people of these States to the service of that 
great and glorious Being who is the beneficent author 
of all the good that was, that is, and that will be; that 
we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our sin- 
cere and humble thanks for His kind care and protec- 
tion of the people of this country previous to their 
becoming a nation; for the signal and manifold 
mercies and the favorable interpositions of His provi- 
dence in the course and conclusions of the late war; 
for the great degree of tranquillity, union and plenty 
which we have since enjoyed; for the peaceable and 
rational manner in which we have been enabled to 
establish constitutions of government for our safety 
and happiness, and, particularly, the national one now 
lately instituted; for the civil and religious liberty 
with which we are blessed, and the means we have of 



350 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and, in gen- 
eral, for all the great and various favors which He has 
been pleased to confer upon us; 

And also that we may then unite in most humbly 
offering our prayers and supplications to the 
great Lord and Ruler of Nations, and beseech Him to 
pardon our national and other transgressions; to 
enable us all, whether in public or private stations, 
to perform our several and relative duties properly 
and punctually; to render our National Government a 
blessing to all the people by constantly being a 
Government of wise, just, and Constitutional laws. 
discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed; to pro- 
tect and guide all sovereigns and nations (especially 
such as have shown kindness to us), and to bless them 
with good governments, peace, and concord; to pro- 
mote the knowledge and practice of true religion and 
virtue, and the increase of science among them and 
us; and, generally, to grant unto all mankind such a 
degree of tenrporal prosperity as He alone knows to 
be best. 

Given under my hand, at the City of New York, 
the 3d day of October, A. D. 1789. 

George Washington. 



The Old Thanksgiving Days. 

Ernest W. Shurtleff. 

Sitting silent by the window while the evening's fading beam 
Turns to lonely gray the winter's silvered sky, 

Mot a voice to break the reverie of thought's too pensive dream, 
Not a footstep— only memory and I. 



Thanksgiving. 351 

From the past the veil seems lifted, and I am a child once 
more; 

On the hearth again the old-time fagots blaze. 
Hush! Again I hear the voices of the guests about the door, 

In the greetings of the old Thanksgiving Days. 

All the air outside is frosty, and in gusts the blithe winds blow, 

And I hear the distant sleighbells faintly ring; 
And against the rime-touched windows comes the purring, 
stirring snow, 

Like the brushing of a passing angel's wing. 
But within, oh, see the faces that are smiling round the board, 

How they shine with love and gratitude and praise! 
Hushed the voices are a moment for the thanking of the Lord, 

In the blessings of the old Thanksgiving Days. 

There were all the joyful kinsfolk gathered in that smiling 
host, 
Aged sire and laughing children, sweet and fair. 
Sorrow haunted not that banquet with her poor, unwelcome 
ghost; 
Peace and gladness were the unseen angels there. 
Oh! the stories, and the music, and the friendly, blithesome 
jest; 
Oh! the laughter and the merry, merry plays! 
Was there ever more of heaven in a happy mortal's breast 
Than was with us in the old Thanksgiving Days? 

That was years ago, and curfews for the loved have rung since 
then. 
As to-night I watch the dawning evening star, 
In my dreams I see the mansions Christ prepared in heaven 
for men — 
It is there to-night the absent kindred are; 
It is there their feast is ready, and I hold the fancy dear 

That they often turn to earth their 'oving gaze, 
And perhaps they, too, are dreaming, as they see me sitting 
here, 
Of the sweetness of the old Thanksgiving Days. 



352 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

That Things are No Worse, Sire. 
Helen Hunt Jackson. 

From the time of our old Ke volution, 
When we threw off the yoke of the King, 

Has descended this phrase to remember — 
To remember, to say, and to sing; 

"lis a phrase that is full of a lesson; 
It can comfort and warm like a fire; 

It can cheer us when days are the darkest: 

"That things are no worse, O my sire! " 

'Twas King George's prime minister said it, 
To the King, who had questioned, in heat, 

What he meant by appointing Thanksgiving 
In such days of ill-luck and defeat. 
u What's the cause of your day of Thanksgiving? 
Tell me, pray," cried the King in his ire. 

Said the minister, " This is the reason- 
That things are no worse, O my sire! '' 

There has nothing come down, in the story, 

Of the answer returned by the King; 
But I think on his throne he sat silent, 

And confessed it a sensible thing; 
For there's never a burden so heavy 

That it might not be heavier still; 
There is never so bitter a sorrow 

That the cup could not fuller fill. 

And what of care and of sadness 
Our life and our duties may bring, 

There's always the cause for thanksgiving 
Which the minister told to the King. 

'Tis a lesson to sing and to remember; 
It can comfort and warm like a fire, 

Can cheer us when days are the darkest— 

11 That things are no worse, O my sire! " 



Thanksgiving. 353 

The Day of Thanksgiving. 

Hexey Wakd Beechek. 

Thanksgiving Day is the one national festival 
which turns on home life. It is not a day of eccle- 
siastical saints. It is not a national anniversary. It 

is not a day celebrating a religions event. It is a 
day of Xature. It is a day of thanksgiving 
for the year's history. And it must pivot on the 
household. It is the one great festival of onr Ameri- 
can life that pivots on the household. A typical 
Thanksgiving dinner represents everything that has 
grown in all the summer, fit to make glad the heart of 
man. It is not a riotous feast. It is a table piled high, 
among the group of rollicking young and the sober 
joy of the old, with the treasures of the growing year, 
accepted with rejoicings and interchange of many 
festivities as a token of gratitude to Almighty God. 

Eemember God's bounty in the year. String the 
pearls of His favor. Hide the dark parts, except so 
far as they are breaking out in light! Give this one 
day to thanks, to joy, to gratitude! 



Thanksgiving. 

Oh! give thanks for the summer and winter; 

Give thanks for the sunshine and rain; 
For the flowers, the fruits, and the grasses, 

And the bountiful harvest of grain; 
For the winds that sweep over our prairies, 

Distributing vigor and health — 
Oh ! give thanks to our Heavenly Father 

For nature's abundance of wealth. 



354 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Oh! give thanks for loved friends and relations, 

For sweet eonverse with those that are dear; 
Give thanks for our country's salvation 

From famine and war the past year; 
That, while kingdoms and empires have fallen, 

Our government firmly has stood — 
Oh! give thanks to our Heavenly Father 

For all this abundance of good. 

Give thanks for each lawful ambition 

That gives a new impulse to do; 
Give thanks for each fond hope's fruition, 

And r.ll of God's goodness to you. 
Forget not w T hence cometh the power 

That all of these blessings secures — 
Oh! give thanks to our Heavenly Father. 

Whose mercy forever endures. 



For a Warning. 

C. B. Le Row. 

I can tell just how it happened, though it's fifty years ago, 
And I sometimes think it's curious that I can remember so: 
For, though things that lately happened slip my mind, and 

fade aw T ay, 
I am sure that I shall never lose the memory of that day. 

Job w T as coming to Thanksgiving — so he w 7 rote us in the fall; 
He was Ezra's oldest brother, and his favorite of them all. 
We'd been keeping house since April, but I couldn't always 

tell 
When my pie-crust would be flaky, or the poultry roasted 

well; 
So I felt a little worried — if the truth must be confessed— 
At the thought of Ezra's brother coming as our household 

guest. 



Thanksgiving. 355 

Just a week before Thanksgiving Ezra rode one day to town, 
As I needed things for cooking— flour and sugar, white and 

brown; 
And I worked like any beaver all the time he was away, 
Making mince and stewing apple for the coming holiday. 
I was hot, and tired, and nervous when he galloped home at 

night — 
All that day my work had plagued me— nothing seemed to go 

just right. 

4 'Here's the flour, Lucindy," said he. "It's the best there is 

in town. 
I forgot the other sugar, but I've brought enough of brown." 
"You're a fool!" I cried in fury, and the tears began to fall; 
" Ride ten miles to do an errand, and forget it after all! " 

I was cross and clean discouraged, as I thought he ought to 
know; 

But he turned as white as marble when he heard me speak- 
ing so. 

Not a word he said in answer, but he started for the door, 

And in less than half a minute galloped down the road once 
more. 

Then I nearly cried my eyes out, what with grief and fear 

and shame; 
He was good and kind and patient; I was all the one to 

blame. 
And the hours wore on till midnight, and my heart seemed 

turned to stone, 
As I listened for his coming while I sat there all alone. 

With the daylight came a neighbor; " Ezra has been hurt," he 

said; 
"Found beside the road unconscious; taken up at first for 

dead." 
Just behind him came four others, with a burden slowly 

brought. 
As I stood and dumbly watched them, you can guess of all I 

thought! 



356 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Oh, the days and nights that followed! Ezra lived, and that 
was all; 

And with tearless eyes I waited for the worst that might be- 
fall. 

Wandering in a wild delirium, broken phrases now and then 

Dropped from fevered lips, and told me what his painful 
thoughts had been. 

So Thanksgiving dawned upon us. Job came early, shocked 

to meet 
Such a broken-hearted woman for the bride he hoped to 

greet. 
Not a word we spoke together in that hushed and shadowed 

room, 
Where we waited for the twilight darkening down to deeper 

gloom ; 
For the doctor said that morning: "There is nothing more 

to do; 
If he lives till after sunset, I, perhaps, can pull him through." 

Just as five o'clock was striking Ezra woke and faintly 

stirred; 
"Did you get the sugar, darling?" were the words I faintly 

heard. 
How I cried! You can't imagine how I felt to hear him 

speak, 
Or to see his look of wonder when I bent to kiss his cheek. 

Well, I've told a long, long story— Ezra's coming up the 

walk — 
But I've had a purpose in it — 'twasn't just for idle talk. 
Don't you think, my dear, you'd better make your quarrel up 

with Gray? 
It may save a world of trouble, and it's near Thanksgiving 

Day. 



Thanksgiving. 357 

A Thanksgiving Prayer. 

Oh, Thou, Grand Builder of the Universe! 
Who mak'st the rolling worlds and peoplest them 
With creatures — Who watchest the sparrow's fall, 
And shap'st the fate of nations- 
Hear us, we beseech Thee! Bend low Thine ear; 
And in Thy mercy heed, while now the Nation 
Kneels with her thank-offering. 

Another year 
Upon the circled track of Time has passed, 
And still she holds Thy favor. Oh! give her, 
We implore Thee, a sense of all Thy blessings — 
A full sense to know, so in the knowledge 
She may worthier be to wear them. 

All this, O Great Supreme! 
She lowly asks through Him Thou lovest. 



Thanksgiving Hymn. 

To the Giver of all blessings 

Let our voices rise in praise, 
For the joys and countless mercies 

He hath sent to crown our days; 
For the homes of peace and plenty, 

And a land so fair and wide, 
For the labor of the noonday, 

And the rest of eventide; 

For the wealth of golden harvests, 

For the sunlight and the rain, 
For the grandeur of the ocean, 

For the mountain and the plain; 
For the ever-changing seasons, 

And the comforts which they bring; 
For Thy love, so grand, eternal. 

We would thank Thee, O our King ! 



358 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Thanksgiving Ode. 

John G. Whittier. 

Once more the liberal year laughs out 
O'er richer stores than gems or gold; 

Once more with harvest-song and shout 
Is nature's bloodless triumph told. 

Our common mother rests and sings, 
Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves; 

Her lap is full of goodly things, 
Her brow is bright with autumn leaves. 

O favors every year made new ! 

O gifts with rain and sunshine sent ! 
The bounty overruns our due; 

The fullness shames our discontent. 

"We shut our eyes, and flowers bloom on; 

We murmur, but the corn-ears fill; 
We choose the shadow, but the sun 

That casts it shines behind us still. 

God gives us with our rugged soil 
The power to make it Eden-fair, 

And richer fruits to crown our toil 
Than summer- wedded islands bear. 

Who murmurs at his lot to-day ? 

Who scorns his native fruit and bloom ? 
Or sighs for dainties far away, 

Beside the bounteous board of home ? 

Thank Heaven, instead, that Freedom's arm 
Can change a rocky soil to gold; 

That brave and generous lives can warm 
A clime with Northern ices cold. 

And let these altars, wreathed with flowers 
And piled with fruits, awake again 

Thanksgivings for the golden hours, 
The early and the latter rain ! 



Thanksgiving. 359 

Thanksgiving for his House. 

Robert Herrick (1591-1674). 

Lord, thou hast given me a cell 

Wherein to dwell, 
A little house whose humble roof 

Is weather-proof; 
Under the sparres of which I lie 

Both soft and dry; 
Where thou, my chamber for to ward, 

Hast set a guard 
Of harmless thoughts to watch and keep 

Me, while I sleep. 
Low is my porch, as is my fate, 

Both void of state; 
And yet the threshold of my doore 

Is worn by th' poore, 
Who hither come, and freely get 

Good words, or meat. 

'Tis thou that crownest my glittering hearth 

With guiltlesse mirthe, 
And givest me wassaile bowls to drink, 

Spiced to the brink. 
Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand 

That soiles my land 
And givest me for my bushel sown 

Twice ten for one; 
Thou makest my teeming hen to lay 

Her egg each day. 
All these, and better, thou dost send 

Me, to this end, 
That I should render, for my part, 

A thankful heart; 
Which, fired with incense, I resigne 

As wholly Thine: 
But the acceptance, that must be, 

Lord, by Thee. 



360 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Harvest Hymn. 

John G. Whittier. 

Once more the liberal year laughs out 
O'er richer stores than gems of gold; 

Once more with harvest song and shout, 
Is nature's boldest triumph told. 

Oh! favors old, yet ever new; 

Oh! blessings with the sunshine sent. 
The bounty overruns our due, 

The fullness shames our discontent. 

Who murmurs at his lot to-day? 

Who scorns his native fruit and bloom, 
Or sighs for dainties far away, 

Besides the bounteous board of home? 

Thank Heaven, instead, that Freedom's arm 
Can change a rocky soil to gold; 

And brave and generous lives can warm 
A clime with northern ices cold. 

And by these altars wreathed with flowers, 
And fields with fruits awa"ke again, 

Thanksgiving for the golden hours, 
The earlier and the latter rain. 



Give Thanks. 

For all that God, in mercy, sends; 
For health and children, home and friends; 
For comfort in the time of need, 
For every kindly word and deed, 
For happy thoughts and holy talk, 
For guidance in our daily walk — 
For everything give thanks! 



Thanksgiving. 361 

For beauty in this world of ours, 
For verdant grass and lovely flowers, 
For song of birds, for hum of bees, 
For the refreshing summer breeze, 
For hill and plain, for stream and wood, 
For the great ocean's mighty flood — 
In everything give thanks ! 

For the sweet sleep which comes with night, 
For the returning morning's light, 
For the bright sun that shines on high, 
For the stars glittering in the sky — 
For these, and everything we see, 
O Lord! our hearts we lift to Thee — 
For everything give thanks! 



Thanksgivings of Old. 

E. A. Smuller. 

Oh, the glorious Thanksgivings 

Of the days that are no more ! 
How, with each recurring season, 

Wakes their mem'ry o'er and o'er! 
When the hearts of men were simpler, 

And the needs of life were less, 
And its mercies were not reckoned 

By the measure of excess. 

Heaven send the glad Thanksgiving 

Of that older, simpler time ! 
Tarry with us, not in fancy, 

Not in retrospective rhyme; 
But in true and living earnest 

May the spirit of that day, 
Artless, plain, and unpretending, 

Once again resume its sway ! 



362 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Our Thanksgiving Accept. 

W. D. Howells. 

Lord, for the erring thought 
Not into evil wrought ! 
Lord, for the wicked will 
Betrayed and baffled still ! 
For the heart from itself kept, 
Our thanksgiving accept. 
For ignorant hopes that were 
Broken to our blind prayer; 
For pain, death, sorrow, sent 
Unto our chastisement; 
For all loss of seeming good, 
Quicken our gratitude. 



CHEISTMAS. 



Old Christmas. 

Those Christmas bells as sweetly chime 

As on the day when first they rung 
So merrily in the olden time, 
And far and wide their music flung, 
Shaking the tall, gray, ivied tower, 
With all their deep, melodious power, 
They still proclaim to every ear 
Old Christmas comes but once a year. 

Then he came singing through the woods, 

And plucked the holly, bright and green; 
Pulled here and there the ivy buds; 
Was sometimes hidden, sometimes seen, 
Half-buried 'neath the mistletoe, 
His long beard hung with flakes of snow; 
And still he ever caroled clear, 
Old Christmas comes but once a year. 

The bells which usher in the morn 
Have ever drawn my mind away 
To Bethlehem, where Christ was born, 
And the low stable where He lay, 

In which the large-eyed oxen fed; 
To Mary, bowing low her head, 
And looking down, with love sincere; 
For Christmas still comes once a year. 

Upon a gayer, happier scene 

Never did holly berries peer, 
Or ivy throw its trailing green 

On brighter forms than there are here; 



364 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Nor Christmas, in his old armchair, 
Smile upon lips or brows more fair. 
Then let us sing, amid our cheer, 
Old Christmas still comes once a year. 



A 



[eery Christmas and a Glad New Year. 

George Cooper. 

Oh, bells that chime your sweetest! 

Oh,' world of glistening white! 
Oh, breezes blithely bringing 

A message of delight ! 
From leafless hill and valley 

But one refrain I hear: 
"A merry, merry Christmas 

And a glad New Year! " 

From humble home and palace 

The kindly voice is breathed, 
From forest arch and pillar, 

And meadows snowy wreathed, 
An echo from the angels, 

A paean of good cheer: 
Hark! " Merry, merry Christmas 

And a glad New Year! " 

Oh, light of heavenly gladness 

That falls upon the earth! 
Oh, rapture of thanksgiving 

That tells the Saviour's birth! 
The golden links of kindness 

Bring heart to heart more near, 
With a ' ' Merry, merry Christmas 

And a glad New Year! " 



Christmas. 365 

Ode on Christmas. 

J. E. Clinton. 

'Tis Christmas morn. In other lands they sing 
The praises of our King, 
In carols light and gay* 
Making mere holiday 
Of all his love can bring; 
Not in this mood I tune the lyre — 
Far deeper thoughts and zeal its strings inspire; 
Perchance though lost its sacred fire, 
Since this unskillful, feeble hand 
Cannot obey the heart's command 
And make a song for all the land; 
Peace on earth, to men good will; 
Thus was it sung, 
The clouds among, 
And through the ages echoes still. 

"When peace on earth shall be, how sweet a rest 
Will fill the war-worn nations, and how blest 
The perfect justice in His name 
To govern all the same! 
No head down- cast need bow 
Before the haughty brow 
Of Him who rules by birth, and not by fame; 
But merit's cause shall be confessed, 
And humble worth not sue in vain. 
See, the prison doors are swinging 
Outward to the joyous ringing. 
Good will to men, 
And full again 
Resounds the anthem of His reign. 

Then hail the day! 
In crowded street, in lonely way, 
In halls where pleasures wait 
On feast of rich and great, 



366 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Yet more in homes 
Where comfort stands aloof, and sorrow often, comes- 
In both He claims a brother's part; 
His gentle, loving, human heart, 
Amid the joys of heaven, looks down to call 
The struggling, toiling, wounded soul 
Into His arms to be made whole. 
O Power Divine! e'en at Thy gracious feet I fall. 
Thou knowest the weakness of this frame; 

Its wayward passions' swell, 

Yet on this day, in Thy dear name, 

Thy love shall make all well. 



The Little Christmas Tree. 

Susan Coolidge. 

The Christmas Day was coming, the Christinas eve drew near, 
The fir trees, they were talking low at midnight, cold and 

clear; 
And this is what the fir trees said, all in the pale moonlight: 
" Now, which of us shall chosen be to grace the holy night ? " 

The tall trees and the goodly trees raised each a lofty head, 
In glad and secret confidence, though not a word they said. 
But one, the baby of the band, could not restrain a sigh — 
"You all will be approved," he said; "but oh! what chance 
have I?" 

11 1 am so small, so very small, no one will mark or know 
How thick and green my needles are, how true my branches 

grow. 
Few toys and candles could I hold, but heart and will are free, 
And in my heart of hearts I know I am a Christmas tree." 

The Christmas angel hovered near; he caught the grieving 

word, 
And, laughing low, he hurried forth, with love and pity stirred. 



Christmas'. 367 

He sought and found St. Nicholas, the dear old Christmas 

saint, 
And in his fatherly, kind ear rehearsed the fir tree's plaint. 

Saints are all-powerful, we know, so it befell that day, 

That, ax on shoulder, to the grove a woodman took his 

way. 
One baby girl he had at home, and he went forth to find 
A little tree as small as she, just suited to his mind. 

Oh! glad and proud the baby-fir, amid its brethren tall, 
To be thus chosen and singled out, the first among them all! 
He stretched his fragrant branches, his little heart beat 

fast; 
He was a real Christmas tree — he had his wish at last. 

One large and shining apple, with cheeks of ruddy gold; 
Six tapers, and a tiny doll were all that he could hold. 
The baby laughed, the baby crowed, to see the tapers bright; 
The forest baby felt the joy, and shared in the delight. 

And when, at last, the tapers died, and when the baby slept, 

The little fir, in silent night, a patient vigil kept. 

Though scorched and brown its needles were, it had no heart 
to grieve; 

" I have not lived in vain," he said; "thank God for Christ- 
mas Eve! '' 



Christmas Hoses. 

May Eiley Smith. 

I gave into a brown and tired hand 

A stem of roses, sweet and creamy-white. 

I know the bells rang merry tunes that night, 

For it was Christmas time throughout the land, 

And all the skies were hung with lanterns bright. 



368 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The brown hand held my roses gracelessly; 

They seemed more white within their dusky vase; 

A scarlet wave suffused the woman's face. 
" My hands so seldom hold a flower, 1 ' said she, 
" I think the lovely things feel out of place." 

O tired hands that are unused to flowers; 

feet that tread on nettles all the way ! 

God grant His peace may fold you round to-day, 

And cling in fragrance when these Christmas hours, 

With all their mirthf ulness, have passed away ! 



A Schemer. 
Edgar L. Warren. 

Into a famous toy shop 

Went little Joe and I, 
In the crisp Christmas weather, 

To see what we could spy. 

It was a place of wonder, 

A real enchanted ground, 
Where everything that heart could wish 

Might certainly be found. 

There were swings, and rocking-horses, 
And sleds for boys and girls, 

And games, and books, and puzzles, 
And dolls with flaxen curls. 

Now find what she most wishes 

(It popped into my head), 
And get it for her Christmas, 

And so I spoke and said: 

" If you could have but one thing 

Of all the tilings you see, 
Now, tell me, little (laughter, 

What that one thing should be." 



Christmas. 369 



The little maiden answered, 
Scanning the treasures o'er, 

"If I could take but one fing, 
I fink I'd take the store!" 



A Telephone Message. 

" Ah ! Here's the little round thing my papa talks into, 

To tell the folks down town what he wants to have them do. 

I'm going to try myself; now, let me get a chair, 

And then I'll stand on tiptoe, so that I can reach up there. 

" Halloo! (that's what they all say) you dear old Santa Claus, 

I'm going to have a little bit of talk with you, because 

I want to tell you all about a little girl I know, 

Who never had a Christmas in her life — she told me so. 

" I hardly could believe it, but she says 'tis really true. 
I'm sure you're always very kind, but I'm surprised at you, 
That you should have forgotten such a little one ! but still 
You have, perhaps, all the stockings you can fill. 

" But could you go to her house instead of coming here? 
For mamma says that Christmas is the time of all the year 
For children to remember poor little girls and boys 
Who never hang their stockings up for picture-books and toys. 

"And give her lots of goodies, too, because she's poor, you see, 
And ought to have more sugar-plums than you could bring 

to me. 
Now, tell it on your fingers, and remember as you go — 
Just pack her little stocking to the very, very toe. 

" That's all — only, Santa Claus, I just would like to say, 

If you should have more presents than you need on Christmas 

Day, 
And could leave me just a few as you pass the chimney — why, 
Of course — I would be very glad indeed. Good-bye! Good- 
bye!" 



370 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The Christmas Peal. 
Harriet Prescott Spofford. 

Swinging across the belfry tower, 

The bells rang backward all the hour; 

They rang, they reeled, they rushed, they roared; 

Their tongues tumultuous music poured. 

The old walls rocked, the peals outswept, 

Far up the steep their echoes leapt, 

Soaring and sparkling till they burst 

Like bubbles round the topmost horn 

That reddens to the hint of morn, 

That halts some trembling star the first; 

And all the realms of ice and frost 

From field to field those joy bells tossed. 

They answered from their airy height; 

They thrilled; they loosed their bands for flight; 

They knew that it was Christmas night! 

Where awful absences of sound 

The gorge in death's dumb rigor bound, 

Below, and deep within the wood, 

Windless and weird the black pines stood. 

The iron boughs, slow swaying, rose 

And fell, and shook their sifted snows, 

And stirred in every stem and branch 

To the wild music in the air 

From far, lone upper regions, where 

Loose plunged the silver avalanche. 

All up and down the valley-side 

Those iron boughs swayed far and wide; 

They heard the cry along the height ; 

They pulsed in time with that glad flight; 

They knew that it was Christmas night ! 

You who, with quickening throbs, shall mark 
Such swells and falls, swim on the dark 



Christmas. 371 

As crisp as if the clustered lout 

In starry depths sprang chiming out, 

As if the Pleiades should sing, 

Lyra should touch her tenderest string, 

Aldebaran his spear-heads clang, 

Great Betelguese and Sirius blow 

Their mighty horns, and Fomalhaut, 

With wild, sweet breath, suspended hang — 

Know 'tis your heart-beats, with those bells, 

Loosen the snow clouds' vibrant cells, 

Stir the vast forests on the height — 

Your heart-beats answering to the light 

Flashed earthward the first Christmas night ! 



"Quite Like a Stocking." 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 

Just as the moon was fading 

Amid her misty rings, 
And every stocking was stuffed 

With childhood's precious things, 
Old Kris Kringle looked around, 

And saw, on an elm-tree bough, 
High hung, an oriole's nest, 

Lonely and empty now. 

"* Quite a stocking," he laughed, 
"Hung up there on a tree! 
I didn't suppose the birds 

Expected a present from me. " 
Then old Kris Kringle, who loves 

A joke as well as the best, 
Dropped a handful of snowflakes 
Into the oriole's empty nest. 



372 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

A Secret. 

Mrs. G. M. Howard. 

A tall fir whispered in the wood: 
"I'd tell a secret, if I could." 
Then all the dry leaves on the ground 
Whisked up and down, and all around, 
To see if they the news might hear: 
And spread it quickly far and near. 

But the tall tree answered not the call; 
It bowed politely, that was all, 
And flung its tassels to the breeze, 
And looked the wisest of all trees; 
But when I came beneath the tree 
It whispered, "Yes, I'll tell it thee." 

Then, as I rushed, in eager haste, 
And threw my arms about its waist, 
I held my breath : that I might hear: 
" My child, I'm coming soon, to be 
Your very own dear Christmas tree." 



A Christmas Thought about Dickens. 
Bertha S. Scranton. 

Westminster is gray at midnight, 

With shadows from wall to wall; 
They have noiseless feet, these shadows, 

And make no sound as they fall. 
But I ween they will creep together, 

A goodly band to-night, 
Over a silent marble name, 

In the Christmas-eve twilight. 

All the tiny dear child-people 
We hold in our hearts to-day, 



Christmas. 373 

Who will live when that same marble 

Has crumbled to dust away. 
" Little Em'ly's" ghost that hauntetb 

The minster's shadowy aisle, 
With the grave, sweet face of Agnes, 

And the child-wife Dora's smile. 

Then will come, I ween, with the others, 

Poor Smike with his patient air, 
And the seven little Kenwigs, 

With their braided tails of hair. 
And Jenny Wren, I can promise, 

Will surely be there again, 
With her slanting rows of children, 

Crying, " Who is this in pain ?" 

Little Nell will wake and listen, 

When the white, white world is still 
And the great chimes through the midnight 

From the belfry tower thrill. 
The little Cratchits will hearken 

And wait till the goose is done, 
And the voice of tiny Tim will cry, 

" God bless us every one !" 

But ah ! for the living mourners 

On either side of the sea, 
For whom no more the brave hand writes, 

The heart beats cheerily. 
And ah ! for the saddened chambers, 

Where his watchers ever wait, 
They unto whom life yields but pain, 

And who keep its vigil late. 

Westminster is gray with shadows, 

But his children never die ! 
Through all the Christmas times to come 

Will his carol notes ring high. 



374 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The dreamer has but awakened, 
And the master's work is done, 

But the bells on Time's great steeple 
Ring, " God bless us every one 1" 



The Day of Days. 

Solo. 'Twas eighteen hundred years ago, 
Not in a region of ice and snow, 
But far in the land of the early morn, 
The oldest of lands, our Christ was born. 

Concert. Of all the joy-days under the sun, 
Of all the holidays, there's but one 
That comes to the heart, and clings to the home — 
Christmas has come ! 

Solo. Still through the length of the multiplied years, 
Sunshine of pleasure, and rainfall of tears, 
Changes and growth in wonderful ways, 
Christmas remains the great day of days. 

Concert. The day of the hope that casteth out fear, 
The day of all days that brings good cheer 
In the country's peace and the city's hum — 
Christmas has come ! 

/Solo. Now in the uttermost ends of the earth 

The story is told of the Christ-child's birth; 
And millions, wherever the sun's rays fall, 
Are kin in the hope that is dear to all. 



Concert. All over the lands and far out on the seas 
Is a lifting of voices and bowing of knees; 
And alike to us all, if we rest or roam, 

Christmas has come ! 



Christmas. 375 

Solo. Wherever the blessings of mortals increase, 

With customs and laws that give joy and peace; 
Where science and art yield comfort and bliss, 
All over the world there is no day like this. 

Concert. Of all the joy-days under the sun, 
Of all the holidays, there's but one 
That touches the heart and clings to the home — 
Christmas has come ! 



The Merry Christmas Time. 

George Arnold. 

Green were the meadows with last summer's store; 

The maples rustled with a wealth of leaves; 
The brook went babbling to the pebbly shore 
Down by the old mill, with its cobwebbed door 

And swallow-haunted eaves; 
And all the air was warm, and calm, and clear, 
As if cold winter never would come near. 

Now the wide meadow-lands where then we strolled 
Are misty with a waste of whirling snow; 

The ruined maples, stripped of autumn's gold, 

Sigh mournfully and shiver in the cold, 
As the hoarse north winds blow. 

Yet something makes this frosty season dear — 

The merry, merry Christmas time is here. 

The merry Christmas, with its generous boards, 

Its fire-lit hearths, and gifts, and blazing trees, 
Its pleasant voices uttering gentle words, 
Its genial mirth, attuned to sweet accords, 

Its holy memories! 
The fairest season of the passing year — 
The merry, merry Christmas time is here. 



376 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The sumacs by the brook have lost their red; 

The mill-wheel in the ice stands dumb and still; 
The leaves have fallen, and the birds have fled; 
The flowers we loved in summer all are dead, 

And wintry winds blow chill. 
Yet something makes this dreariness less drear — 
The merry, merry Christmas time is here. 

Since last the panes were hoar with Christmas frost 
Unto our lives some changes have been given; 

Some of our barks have labored, tempest-tossed; 

Some of us, too, have loved, and some have lost, 
Some found their rest in heaven. 

So, humanly, we mingle smile and tear, 

When merry Christmas time is drawing near. 

Then pile the fagots higher on the hearth, 

And fill the cup of joy, though eyes be dim; 
We hail the day that gave our Saviour biith, 
And pray His spirit may descend on earth, 

That we may follow Him. 
'Tis this that makes the Christmas time so dear^ 
Christ, in His love for us, seems drawing near. 



Christmas Bells. 
H. W. Longfellow. 

[For musical accompaniment ] 

I heard the bells on Christmas-day 
Their old, familiar carols play, 

And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good -will to men ! 

And thought how, as the day had come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 



Christmas. 377 

Had rolled along 
The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

Till, ringing, swinging on its way, 
The world revolved from night to day 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cannon thundered in the South 

And with the sound 

The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

" It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearth-stones of a continent, 

And made forlorn 

The households born 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

And in despair I bowed my head; 
"There is no peace on earth," I said; 
"For hate is strong 
And mocks the song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !" 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep; 
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep ! 

The Wrong shall fail, 

The Eight prevail, 
With peace on earth, good-will to men V 1 



378 Pieces for Every 



ccasion. 



The Little Mud-Sparrows. 

(A Jewish Legend.) 

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 

I like that old sweet legend 

Not found in Holy Writ, 
And wish that John or Matthew 

Had made Bible out of it. 

But though it is not Gospel, 

There is no law to hold 
The heart from growing better 

That hears the story told: 

How the little Jewish children 

Upon a summer day 
Went down across the meadows 

With the Child Christ to play, 

And in the gold-green valley 
Where low the reed-grass lay, 

They made them mock mud-sparrows 
Out of the meadow-clay. 

So, when these all were fashioned 
And ranged in flocks about, 

" Now, 1 ' said the little Jesus, 
" Well let the birds fly out." 

Then all the happy children 

Did call, and coax, and cry- 
Each to his own mud-sparrow: 
"Fly, as I bid you— fly !" 

But earthen were the sparrows, 
And earth they did remain, 

Though loud the Jewish children 
Cried out and cried again — 



Christmas. 379 

Except the one bird only 

The little Lord Christ made. 
The earth that owned Him Master, 

— His earth heard and obeyed. 

Softly He leaned and whispered: 

" Fly up to heaven ! fly !" 
And swift His little sparrow 

Went soaring to the sky. 

And silent all the children 

Stood awe-struck looking on, 
Till deep into the heavens 

The bird of earth had gone. 

I like to think for playmate 

"We have the Lord Christ still, 
And that still above our weakness, 

He works His mighty will; 

That all our little playthings 

Of earthen hopes and joys 
Shall be by His commandment 

Changed into heavenly toys. 

Our souls are like the sparrows 

Imprisoned in the clay — 
Bless Him who came to give them wings, 

Upon a Christmas Day ! 



Bells of Yule. 

Alfred Tennyson. 

The time draws near the birth of Christ; 

The moon is hid; the night is still; 

The Christmas bells from hill to hill 
Answer each other in the mist. 



380 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Four voices of four hamlets round, 

From far and near, on mead and moor, 
Swell out and fall as if a door 

Were shut between me and the sound. 

Each voice four changes on the wind, 
That now dilate, and now decrease, 
Peace and good will, good will and peace, 

Peace and good will to all mankind. 

This year I slept and woke with pain, 
I almost wished no more to wake, 
And that my hold on life would break 

Before I heard those bells again. 

But they my troubled spirit rule, 
For they controlled me when a boy; 
They bring me sorrow touched with joy — 

The merry, merry bells of Yule. 



Christmas in Olden Time. 

Sir Walter Scott. 

Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill; 
But, let it whistle as it will, 
We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
Each age has deemed the new-born year 
The fittest time for festal cheer. 

And well our Christmas sires of old 
Loved, when the year its course had rolled 
And brought blithe Christmas back again 
With all its hospitable train, 
With social and religious rite 
To honor all the holy night. 
On Christmas-eve the bells were rung; 
On Christmas-eve the mass was sung. 
Then opened wide the Baron's, hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; 



Christmas. 381 

Power laid his rod of rule aside, 
And Ceremony doffed her pride. 
All hailed with uncontrolled delight 
And general- voice the happy night, 
That to the cottage, as the crown, 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, 
"Went roaring up the chimney wide; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the squire and lord. 

Then came the merry maskers in 
And carols roared with blithesome din. 
If unmelodious was the song, 
It was a hearty note and strong. 
England was merry England when 
Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale; 
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; 
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
The poor man's heart through half the year. 



[In the following selection the numbered stanzas can be given in concert 
with a musical accompaniment.] 

The Star in the West. 

QUEBEC— 1635. 

Hezekiah Butterworth. 

'Tis the fortress of St. Louis, 

The Church of Eecoverance, 
And hang o'er the crystal crosses 

The silver lilies of France. 
In the fortress a knight lies dying, 

In the church are priests at prayer, 
And the bell of the Angelus sweetly 

Throbs out on the crimsoned air. 



382 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The noblest knight is dying 

That ever served a king, 
And he looks from the fortress window 

as the bells of the Angelus ring. 
Old scenes come back to his vision, 

Again his ship's canvases swell 
In the harbor of gray St. Malo, 

In the haven of fair Eochelle. 
He sees the emparadised ocean 

That he dared when his years were young, 
The lagoons where his lateen-sail drifted 

As the Southern Cross over it hung; 
Acaaie, the Kichelieu's waters, 

The lakes through the midlands that rolled, 
And the cross that he planted wherever 

He lifted the lilies of gold. 
He lists to the Angelus ringing, 

He folds his white hands on his breast, 
And far o'er the clouded forests 

A star verges low in the West ! 

i. 

" Star on the bosom of the West, 

Chime on, bell, chime on, O bell ! 
To-night with visions I am blest, 
And filled with light ineffable ! 
No angels sing in crystal air, 

No clouds 'neath seraphs' footsteps glow, 
No feet of seers o'er mountains fair 
A portent follows far; but lo ! 
A star is glowing in the West, 

The world shall follow it from far — 

Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on ! 

Shine on, shine on, O Western Star I 



*' In yonder church that storms have iced — 
1 founded it upon this rock — 



Christmas. 383 

I've daily kissed the feet of Christ, 
In worship with my little flock. 
But I am dying — I depart, 

Like Simeon old my glad feet go, 
A star is shining in my heart. 
Such as the Magi saw; and lo ! 
A star is shining in the West, 

The world shall hail it from afar ! 
Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on ! 
Shine on, shine on, O Western Star ! 

in. 

" Beside the Fleur de Lis of France, 
The faith I've planted in the North, 
Ye messengers of Heaven, advance; 

Ye mysteries of the Cross, shine forth ! 
I know the value of the earth, 

I've learned its lessons; it is done; 
One soul alone outweighs in worth 
The fairest kingdom of the sun. 
Star on the bosom of the West, 
My dim eyes follow thee afar. 
Chime on, chime on, Christmas bells ! 
Shine on, shine on, O golden Star ! 

IV. 

"What rapture ! hear the sweet choirs sing, 
While death's cold shadows o'er me fall, 
Beneath the lilies of my King — 

Go, light the lamps in yonder hall. 
Mine eyes have seen the Christ Star glow 
Above the New World's temple gates. 
Go forth, celestial heralds, go ! 
Earth's fairest empire thee awaits ! 
Star on the bosom of the West, 

What feet shall follow thee from far ? 
Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on ! 
Shine on forever, golden Star !" 



384 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

'Twas Christmas morn; the sun arose 

'Mid clouds o'er the St. Lawrence broad, 
And fell a sprinkling of the snows 

As from the uplifted hand of God. 
Dead in the fortress lay the knight, 

His white hands crossed upon his breast, 
Dead, he whose clear prophetic sight 

Beheld the Christ Star in the West. 
That morning, 'mid the turrets white, 

The low flags told the empire's last, 
They hung the lilies o'er the knight, 

And by the lilies set the cross. 

Long, on Quebec, immortal heights, 

Has Champlain slept, the knight of God; 
The Western Star shines on, and lights 

The growing empire, fair and broad. 
And though are gone the knights of France, 

Still lives the spirit of the North; 
The heralds of the Star advance, 

And Truth's eternal light shines forth. 



The Nativity. 

Louisa Parsons Hopkins. 

From Nazareth to Bethlehem, 
Their holy journey leading them 
By silver-towered Jerusalem. 

Beneath the palm-tree's tossing plume, 

Amid the harvest's rich perfume, 

No house could give them rest or room. 

So entering at the wayside cave, 
Where mountain-rills the limestone lave, 
The child was born a world to save. 



Christmas. 385 

They laid him in the manger white; 
The lowing oxen saw the sight, 
And wondered at the dazzling light. 

The mother's heart in sacred bliss 

Could dream no sweeter heaven than this, 

To greet her babe with mother's kiss. 

And bending down with sacred awe, 
For a lost world the angels saw 
Love, the fulfilling of the law. 



A Christmas Question. 
Eev. Minot J. Savage. 

[For concert recitation. In order to avoid monotony in the repetition of the 
question, the first line of the first stanza can be read with direct falling slides ; 
of the second, with direct rising slides; of the third, with emphasis on the 
first word; of the fourth, with a perfect monotone; of the fifth, with empha- 
sis on the second word; of the sixth, with direct rising slides.] 



When will He come ? 
A captive nation dwell upon 
The river-banks of Babylon; 

What is the word they speak ? 
The prophet's eye looks down the years 
And kindles as the sight appears — 
' ' Messiah ! him ye seek ! 
Lo ! the Lord's anointed comes ! and then 
Shall dwell the heavenly kingdom among men !" 

ii. 

When will He come ? 
The Christian answers, ' ' Long ago 
The King was born in manger low. 



386 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Him wicked ttipd have slain 
And now we wait with longing eye, 
And fix our look upon the sky; 
For He will come again, 
We pray and watch since He has gone away; 
For when He comes He'll bring the perfect day " 

in. 

"When will He come ? 
" Lo, here ! Lo, there !" the foolish shout, 
And think that God will come without. 

But ever has it been, 
In spite of fabled tales that tell 
Of magic and of miracle, 
That He has come within. 
Only through man, and man alone, 
Does God build up his righteous throne. 

IV. 

When will He come ? 
When iron first was hammered out; 
When far shores heard the seaman's shout; 

When letters first were known; 
When separate tribes to nations grew; 
When men their brotherhood first knew; 
When law first reached the throne: 
Each separate upward step that man has trod 
Has been a coming of the living God. 

v. 

When will He come ? 
While you are looking far away, 
His tireless feet are nigh to-day; 

Each true word is His voice. 
All honest work, all noble trust, 
Each deed that lifts man from the dust, 

Each pure and manly choice, 



Christmas. 387 

Each upward stair man's toil-worn feet do climb, 
Is just another birth of God sublime. 

VI. 

When will He come ? 
Hell come to-morrow if you will; 
But cease your idle sitting still. 

Yes, He will come to-day. 
He will not come in clouds; but through 
Your doing all that you can do 
To help the right alway. 
Do honest work, and to the truth be true, 
And God already has appeared in you. 



A Christmas Thought. 
Lucy La room. 
Oh! Christmas is coming again, you say, 

And you long for the things he is bringing; 
But the costliest gift may not gladden the day, 

Nor help on the merry bells ringing. 
Some getting is losing, you understand; 

Some hoarding is far from saving; 
What you hold in your hand may slip from your hand; 
There is something better than having; 
We are richer for what we give; 
And only by giving we live. 

Your last year's presents are scattered and gone; 

You have almost forgot who gave them; 
But the loving thoughts you bestow live on 

As long as you choose to have them. 
Love, love is your riches, though ever so poor; 

No money can buy that treasure; 
Yours always, from robber and rust secure, 

Your own without stint or measure. 
It is only love that we can give; 
It is only by loving we live. 



388 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

For who is it smiles through the Christmas morn- 

The Light of the wide creation ? 
A dear little Child in a stable born, 

Whose love is the world's salvation. 
He was poor on earth, but He gave us all 

That can make our life worth the living; 
And happy the Christmas day we call 

That is spent, for His sake, in giving. 
He shows us the way to live; 
Like him, let us love and give! 



NEW YEAR'S. 



Dawn of the Century. 

Anna H. Thorne. 

Gift of the living God to mortal man; 

A bridge, the gates of life and death to span. 

A stir, a breath, a dream, a fantasy, 
The silent, onward tread of destiny. 

Thy Promised One, oh, man! majestic, sweet; 
The fires of dawn still clinging to her feet. 

Thine, man, to have and hold, if thou dost choose; 
Everything to gain, and all to lose. 

Sphinx-like, yet beautiful, about her face 
Linger the star-flowers of a nameless grace. 

Oh, joy bells! ring the noble message forth; 
Flash it, electric currents, to the North, 

The South, the subtle East, the stalwart West; 
From sea to sea, from mountain crest to crest. 

"Peace Universal," shall thy watchword be — 
The touchstone of thy Christianity. 

Sheathe thou the sword, the dying century's shame; 
Quench, in man's love to man, the lurid battle flame. 

Where is the interpreter who shall arise 

To write my message on the changeless skies? 

I am the genius of the age to be; 

My name is Peace; my guerdon, Opportunity. 



390 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

These are my words, oh, man! All nations of the earth 
Are of one blood, one consecrated birth. 

Where is the conqueror at whose knightly tread 
The tiger hounds of war shall crouch in dread? 

At sight of whom, like some archangel mild, 
Or some new vision of the Holy Child, 

Old wrongs shall perish and pass out of sight 
Into the darkness of an endless night. 



A New Year's Address. 

Edward Beooks. 

The old year, hoary with the snows of age, ex- 
hausted with the labors of its life, tottering under its 
weight of days, stood trembling upon the brink of the 
grave. The closing day of its life was waning. The 
last sunset threw its golden beams over the white robe 
of the departing monarch. The stars came out on the 
tented field of night to keep their vigils with him. 
Around the altar of many a rustic church or solemn 
cathedral gathered God's children to watch " the old 
year out and the new year in." 

The hours fled slowly by — nine, ten, eleven — how 
solemnly the last stroke of the clock floats out upon 
the still air. It dies gently away, swells out again in 
the distance, and seems to be caught up by spirit - 
voices of departed years, until the air is filled with 
melancholy strains. It is the requiem of the dying 
year. Tenderly, mournfully it lingers upon the ear 
and sinks into the heart; slowly and softly it dies 
away. The clock strikes twelve; the grave opens and 
closes, and the old year is buried. 



New Year's. 391 

Turning with saddened hearts from the tomb, a 
gush of joyous melody bursts upon us. The bells are 
ringing out their gladdest notes from a thousand 
church spires. Peal upon peal the music comes, until 
an exultant chorus seems to fill the air and reverberate 
from the sky. It is the chorus of welcome to the new- 
born year: 

" Brave and strong, 
Bright as Phoenix, has the young New Year, 
Out of the ashes of the old, leaped forth 
To rule the world in triumph." 

We buried the old year in silence and sadness. We 
stood as mourners at the grave of a departed friend. 
To many it brought misfortune and affliction. From 
some it snatched away a fond sister or manly brother; 
from some a doting father or affectionate mother. The 
wife hath given her husband and the husband his wife 
at its stern behest; the father hath consigned to its 
cold arms the son in whom his life centered, and the 
mother hath torn from her bosom her tender babe 
and buried it and her heart in the cold, cold ground. 

To some of us it was a kind, a generous year, and 
we have learned to love it with deep and earnest affec- 
tion. It loaded us with blessings. It poured its good 
gifts into our cup until it ran over with fullness. It 
was a pleasant, a jolly old year, too. I remember how 
its face was often wreathed with smiles; how its eyes 
often twinkled with fun; and how it sometimes shook 
its old sides with laughter. 

Full of merriment and joy, of benefits and blessings, 
we had learned to love the old year with a deep and 
abiding affection. Now we have buried it, with all it 
holds dear, in the sepulcher of the ages. It sleeps 



392 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

there in its dreamless slumber — but its lessons, its les- 
sons remain. Oh! the lessons of the dead year! How 
important and impressive! 

Come with me down to the burying-ground of the 
ages. Let us enter the tomb of the buried years and 
learn their lessons of wisdom. Here they lie — the six 
thousand years that have lived and died. What a 
spectacle of mingled glory and shame; of honor and 
degradation; of the blessings of peace and the devas- 
tations of war! Here is one with the smile of pros- 
perity upon its brow; there is a ghastly year of want 
and famine. Here is one bloody with the carnage of 
the battlefield; here one lurid with the flames of burn- 
ing martyrs. Here is one black with the foul breath 
of the plague and the pestilence; here one ringing with 
the sighs and mournings of stricken households; and 
here a hundred or more resounding with the clanking 
of slave chains and the wails of an ensiaved people. 

But the scene is not all so somber. Light shineth 
even in the darkness of the tomb. Here is a year 
bright with the deeds of a Howard or a Florence 
Nightingale. Here is one irradiate with the flashing 
star of Napoleon's destiny, which gave light and hope 
to the down-trodden masses of Europe. Here lies one 
resounding with the shout of victory when Charles 
Martel met the tide of Moslem invasion and secured 
Christian civilization to the world. Here is one vocal 
with the prayers that ascended from Plymouth's 
rock-bound coast; here another breathing the spirit 
of peace and Christian fellowship in Fcnn's quiet 
tones; here another filled with the glad huzzas which 
welcomed Washington to the chair of stale: and here 
another ringing with the exultant shouts of three 



New Year's. 398 

millions of freemen born into freedom. With hearts 
swelling with glad emotion we look further, and there 
in the distance we see one with the star of Bethlehem 
upon its brow, and a halo of glory around a babe 
sleeping in Bethlehem's manger. We see the shep- 
herds watching their flocks upon the hill-side of Judea, 
and hear the voices of angels singing, " Glory to 
God in the highest, and on earth peace and good will 
to men/' and our hearts join the angelic chorus and 
sing " Glory to God " for the brightness buried in the 
sepulcher of Time. 

We have buried ours, the old year, with these that 
have gone before. It lies with them folded in the 
slumber of death. We leave them and come forth 
from the sepulcher. 

The passing year is full of solemn admonition. It 
brings to mind the rapid flight of time. The years go 
by like shadows on the dial. A day, a week, a month, 
a year — what is it? The sun rises, climbs to the 
zenith, sinks down the western slope, and a day is 
gone. The week tolls itself away — one, two, three, 
four, five, six, seven, and it has floated down the 
stream of time. The months chase each other through 
the circling year, and the new calendar is begun be- 
fore we were familiar with the old. Old Time seems 
to stand like an archer with his quiver full of days, 
and shoot them by us with the speed of swift-winged 
arrows. But yesterday we lay a babe in the mother's 
arms; to-da} r , youth, manhood, and womanhood are 
here; to-morrow, old age, gray hairs, a tottering form, 
and the tomb. " We spend our years like a tale that 
is told. The days of our years are threscore years and 
ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore 



394 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is 
soon cut on , and we fly away." 

Upon every tree the buds are dreaming of the 
warmer sunshine which shall awaken them to life and 
clothe the forest in a mantle of green. In the flower 
buds lies sleeping all the rich profusion of color and 
fragrance which shall give beauty to the summer 
landscape and perfume to the summer air. Old Winter 
has turned the chatter of the rivulet into stone, but 
the breath of the Spring will loosen its frozen tongue 
and send it laughing and chattering in forest streams 
or mountain cascade. The snow lies on meadow and 
grain field — but under the snow, down in the dark, 
cold earth, there are rootlets nestling together which 
contain the grass that shall spread an emerald carpet 
under our feet, and the grain whose golden billows 
shall rise and fall in the summer breeze. 

This is the lesson of growth and development. Let 
us apply it to the world of thought and feeling. In 
the mind of the babe, wrapped in the soft slumbers of 
infancy, unconscious of its own existence, are powers 
which may be developed into the genius of a Newton 
or a Humboldt. In our hearts lie sleeping ideas of 
duty, love for God and humanity, resolutions for the 
future, ideals of spiritual excellence — which, if devel- 
oped, may make us a blessing and an example to the 
world. 

The past is buried, the present is with us, the future 
is before us; but soon our present and our future will 
be reckoned with the past. The months come and go 
upon the wings of the wind. The great bell of Time, 
swinging in the dome of space, is tolling away our 
years, One after another they ring out upon the air 



New Year's. 395 

and float away into eternity. In a little while the 
knell for each one of us will cease, and we will slumber 
with our fathers. But with Christian faith we can see 
light even in the darkness of the tomb. The grave is 
but the portal of Heaven. From above come voices 
of loved ones calling us heavenward; and listening, 
we long for the land of golden streets, celestial light, 
and unfading glory. 



Another Year. 

Thomas O'Hagan. 

Another year passed over — gone, 

Hope beaming with the new; 
Thus move we on — forever on, 

The many and the few; 
The many of our childhood's days, 

Growing fewer, one by one, 
Till death, in duel with each life, 

Proclaims the last is gone. 

Another year — the buried past 

Lies in its silent grave; 
The stream of life flows ever on, 

As wave leaps into wave; 
Another year — ah! who can tell 

What memories it may bring 
Of lonely hearts and tearful eye, 

And hope bereft of wing ? 

Another year— the curfew rings, 

Fast cover up each coal; 
The old year dies, the old year dies, 

The bells its requiem toll; 
A pilgrim year has reached its shrine, 

The air with incense glows; 
The spirit of another year 

Comes forth from long repose! 



396 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Another year, with tears and joys, 

To form an arch of love; 
Another year to toil with hope, 

And seek for rest above; 
Another year winged on its way — 

Eternity the goal; 
Another year — peace in its train, 

Peace to each parting soul! 



Ring, Joyful Bells! 
Violet Fuller. 

Ring, bells, from every lofty height! 
An infant fair is born to-night; 
Ring far and wide, ring full and clear, 
To welcome in the glad New Year. 
" The king is dead; long live the king! " 
They said of old, and so we sing. 
The Old Year has gone to his repose; 
There let him rest beneath the snows. 

Behind us, with the year that's gone, 
Lie countless sins that we have done. 
With joy we cast all care away, 
And pass into another day. 
New day, new life, whose noble deed 
Will all our sinful years succeed. 
A life of action, great and strong, 
To cancel all we've done of wrong. 

Ring, joyful bells! Our hearts beat high 
With faith and hope. Beyond the sky 
Perchance the angels stand and wait 
To catch the sound at heaven's gate. 
And, echoing each silver tone, 
Sing songs of praise around the throne. 
Ring, happy bells! To us is given 
Still longer to prepare for heaven. 



New Year's. 397 

Next Year. 
Nora Perry. 

" Next year, next year," we say, 

When coine to naught 
Our plans and projects gay, 

Our bright dreams, fraught 

With brighter hopes, that shine 

On that far rim 
Of life's horizon line, 

Where dreams lie dim 

And touched with morning dew — 

" Next year, next year "; 
And while we plan anew 

The days grow sere. 

The year has fled, and lo! 

We've left behind 
The glory and the glow 

We hoped to find; 

And raised again the clew 

We meant to heed — 
The cherished plan to do 

Some cherished deed. 

" Next year, next year! " 

Oh ! why not now, 
Delaying soul, this year 

Keep word and vow? 

Oh ! why not now and here, 

Why not to-day, 
Before another year 

Shall run away, 

Keep word and faith, or ere 

An hour's delay, 
Make good the promise fair, 

To-day, to-day? 



398 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The New Year. 
George Cooper. 

A song for the Old, 
While its knell is tolled, 

And its parting moments fly ! 
But a song and a cheer 
For the glad New Year, 

While we watch the Old Year die ! 
Oh ! its grief and pain 
Ne'er can come again, 

And its care lies buried deep; 
But what joy untold 
Doth the New Year hold, 

And what hopes within it sleep ! 

A song for the Old, 

While its knell is tolled, 
And the friends it gave so true ! 

But, with hearts of glee, 

Let us merrily 
Welcome in the bright, bright New! 

For the heights we gained, 

For the good attained, 
We will not the Old despise; 

But a joy more sweet. 

Making life complete, 
In the golden New Year lies. 

A song for the Old, 
While its knell is tolled ! 

With a grander, broader zeal, 
And a forward view, 
Let us greet the New, 

Heart and purpose ever leal ! 
Let the ills we met, 
And the sad regret, 



New Year's. 399 

With the Old be buried deep ; 

For what joy untold 

Doth the New Year hold, 
And what hopes within it sleep ! 



New Year's Day. 

O glad New Year ! O glad New Year ! 

Dawn brightly on us all, 
And bring us hope, our hearts to cheer, 

Whatever may befall. 
On thee, Old Year, O past Old Year ! 

Our lingering looks we cast, 
Ere thou dost all our actions bear 

Into the shadowy past. 

For all the joy and happiness 

To us this past year given, 
For all the love and blessedness, 

For all good gifts from Heaven; 
For all the care, and sadness, too, 

And hearts by sorrow riven, 
As well as for all gladness true — 

Our highest thanks be given. 

' ' Life passes — passes " like a dream — 

And yet we, looking back, 
See many a golden, sunny gleam 

Upon the Old Year's track; 
And, looking forward, can we doubt 

That there shall yet be gleams 
Of sunshine o'er us, and about 

Us many radiant beams? 

Then welcome, welcome, glad New Year ! 

Dawn brightly on us all, 
And bring us hope, our hearts to cheer, 

Whatever may befall; 



400 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Bring patience, comfort, gladness, rest; 

Bring blessings from above; 
Bring happiness — the highest, best — 

To us and those we love. 



New Year's Resolve. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

As the dead year is clasped by a dead December, 

So let your dead sins with your dead days lie. 
A new life is yours, and a new hope ! Remember 

We build our own ladders to climb to the sky. 
Stand out in the sunlight of promise, forgetting 

Whatever your past held of sorrow or wrong; 
We waste half our strength in a useless regretting; 

We sit by old tombs in the dark too long. 

Have you missed in your aim? Well, the mark is still shining. 

Did you faint in the race? Well, take breath for the next. 
Did the clouds drive you back? But see yonder their lining. 

Were you tempted, and fell? Let it serve for a text. 
As each year hurries by, let it join that procession 

Of skeleton shapes that march down to the past, 
While you take your place in the line of progression, 

With your eyes on the heavens, your face to the blast. 

I tell you the future can hold no terrors 

For any sad soul while the stars revolve, 
If he will but stand firm on the grave of his errors, 

And, instead of regretting, resolve, resolve ! 
It is never too late to begin rebuilding, 

Though all into ruins your life seems hurled. 
For look ! how the light of the New Year is gilding 

The worn, wan face of the bruised old world ! 



New Year's. 401 

One More Year. 
A. Norton. 

Another year ! another year ! 

The unceasing rush of time sweeps on, 
Whelm'd in its surges, disappear 

Man's hopes and fears, forever gone. 

Oh, no ! Forbear that idle tale ! 

The hour demands another strain, 
Demands high thoughts that cannot quail, 

And strength to conquer and retain. 

'Tis midnight— from the dark blue sky 
The stars, which now look down on earth, 

Have seen ten thousand centuries fly, 
And given to countless changes birth. 

Shine on ! shine on ! with you I tread 

The march of ages, orbs of light ! 
A last eclipse o'er you may spread; 

To me, to me, there comes no night. 

Oh ! what concerns it him whose way 

Lies upward to the immortal dead, 
That a few hairs are turning gray, 

Or one more year of life has fled? 

Swift years ! but teach me how to bear, 

To feel and act with strength and skill; 
To reason wisely, nobly dare, 

And speed your courses as you will. 
When life's meridian toils are done, 

How calm, how rich the twilight glow ! 
The morning twilight of a sun 

Which shines not here on things below. 

But sorrow, sickness, death, the pain 
To leave, or lose, wife, children, friends ! 

What then — shall we not meet again. 
Where parting comes not, sorrow ends? 



402 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

The fondness of a parent's care, 
The changeless trust which woman gives, 

The smile of childhood, it is there 
That all we love in them still lives. 

Press onward through each varying hour; 

Let no weak fears thy course delay. 
Immortal being ! feel thy power, 

Pursue thy bright and endless way. 



On The Threshold. 

A. H. Baldwin. 

Ring out, O bells ! ring silver-sweet o'er hill and moor and 

fell ! 
In mellow echoes let your chimes their hopeful story tell. 
Ring out, ring out, all- jubilant, the joyous, glad refrain: 
"A bright new year, a glad new year, hath come to us 

again ! " 

Ah ! who can say how much of joy within it there may be 
Stored up for us who listen now to your sweet melody? 
Good-bye, Old Year ! Tried, trusty friend, thy tale at last is 

told. 
O New Year ! write thou thine for us in lines of brightest gold. 

The flowers of spring must bloom at last, when gone the win- 
ter's snow; 

God grant that, after sorrow past, we all some joy may know. 

Though tempest-tossed our bark awhile on Life's rough waves 
may be, 

There comes a day of calm at last, when we the haven see. 

Then ring, ring on, O pealing bells ! there's music in the 

sound; 
Ring on, ring on, and still ring on, and wake the echoes 

round, 



New Yearns. 403 

The while we wish, both for ourselves and all whom we hold 

dear. 
That God mav gracious be to us in this, the bright Xew Year ! 



Grandpa and Bess. 

Emily Huntingdon Miller. 

Two bright heads in the corner, 

Deep in the easy-chair: 
One with a crown of yellow gold, 
And one like the silver fair: 
One with the morning's rosy flush. 
And one with the twilight's tender hush. 

•• Where do the Xew Years come from? '' 

Asks Goldloeks. in her glee: 
"Do they sail in a pearly shallop 
Across a wonderful sea: 
A sea whose waters, with rainbows spanned, 
Touch all the borders of fairyland \ 

11 Do all the birds in that country 

Keep singing by night and by day? 
Singing among the blossoms 
That never wither away? 
"Will they let you feel, as you hold them near. 
Their warm hearts beating, but not with fear? 

1 • And the happy little children. 

Do they wander as they will, 

To gather the sweet wild roses. 

And the strawberries on the hill; 

"White wings like butterflies all afloat, 

And a purple cloud for a fairy boat? 

1 ' There surely is such a country— 

I've seen it many a night. 
Though I never, never could find it 

Awake in the morning light; 



404 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

And that is the country o'er the sea, 

Where the beautiful New Years wait for me." 

11 Where do the New Years come from?" 

Says Grandpa, looking away 
Through the frosty rime on the window, 
To the distant hills, so gray; 
" They come from the country of youth, I know, 
And they pass to the land of long ago. 

" And which is the fairest country? 

Dear heart, I never can tell; 
Where the New Years wait their dawning 
Or the beautiful Old Years dwell; 
But the sweetest summers that ever shone 
To the land of the long ago have flown. 

' ' The New Years wait for you, darling, 

And the Old Years wait for me; 
They have carried my dearest treasures 
To the country over the sea; 
The eyes that were brightest, the lips that sung 
The gladdest carols when life was young. 

11 But I know of a better country, 

Where the Old Years all are new; 
I shall find its shining pathway 
Sooner, sweetheart, than you; 
And I'll send you a message of love and cheer 
With every dawn of a glad New Year." 

The eyes of the dear old pilgrim 
Are looking across the snows, 
While closer nestles the merry face, 
With its flush like the pink wild rose. 
Dreaming together, the young and old, 
Locks of silver and crown of gold. 



New Year's. 405 

The Child and the Year. 

Celia Thaxter. 
Said the child to the youthful year: 
" What hast thou in store for me, 

giver of beautiful gifts ! what cheer, 
What joy dost thou bring with thee ?" 

"My seasons four shall bring 

Their treasures: the winter's snows, 
The autumn's store, and the flowers of spring, 
And the summer's perfect rose. 

" All these and more shall be thine, 
Dear child,— but the last and best 
Thyself must earn by a strife divine, 
If thou wouldst be truly blest. 

" Wouldst know this last, best gift? 
'Tis a conscience clear and bright, 
A peace of mind which the soul can lift 
To an infinite delight. 

"Truth, patience, courage, and love, 
If thou unto me canst bring, 

1 will set thee all earth's ills above, 
O child ! and crown thee a king !" 



The Book of the New Year. 

The Book of the New Year is opened, 
Its pages are spotless and new; 

And so, as each leaflet is turning, 
Dear children, beware what you do ! 

Let never a bad thought be cherished, 
Keep the tongue from a whisper of guile, 

And see that your faces are windows 
Through which a sweet spirit shall smile. 



406 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

And weave for your souls the fair garment 

Of honor and beauty and truth; 
Which will still with a glory enfold you 
When faded the spell of your youth. 

And now, with the new book, endeavor 
To write its white pages with care; 

Each day is a leaflet, remember, 
To be written with watching and prayer. 

And if on a page you discover 
At evening a blot or a scrawl, 

Kneel quickly, and ask the dear Saviour 
In mercy to cover it all. 

So when the strange book shall be finished, 
And clasped by the angel of light, 

You may feel, though the work be imperfect, 
You have tried to please God in the right. 

And think how the years are a stairway 
On which you must climb to the skies; 

And strive that your standing be higher 
As each one away from you flies. 



The Passing Year. 

By the glimmer of green and golden, 

The leap and the sparkle of spray; 
By the heart of the rose unf olden 

To the breath of the summer day; 
By the shout and song of the reapers, 

Binding the ripened sheaf; 
By the bloom on the fragrant cluster, 

By the fall of the loosened leaf, 
By the feathery whirl of the winter, 

And the deep waves 1 hollow sound; 
By the moan of the wind in the forest 

When the night was gathering round; 



New Year's. 407 

By the sweet of the honey of lilies. 

By the fields, all brown and sere- 
Through the march of the changing seasons 

We measured the passing year. 

By the brave things thought or spoken, 

By the true deeds simply done. 
By the mean things crushed and conquered, 

And the bloodless battle won: 
By the days when the load was heavy. 

Yet the heart grew strong to bear: 
By the days when the heart was craven, 

Lacking the strength of prayer: 
By the hour that crept, slow-footed. 

And the hour that flew on wings; 
The time when the harp was silent. 

The time when we swept the strings: 
By the dearth, the dole and the labor, 

The fullness, reward, and cheer — 
By the book of the angel's record 

We measured the passing year. 



A New Year. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 

Why do we greet thee. blithe Xew Year ! 
What are thy pledges of mirth and cheer ? 
Comest. knight-errant, the wrong to right ? 
Comest to scatter our gloom with light \ 
Wherefore the thrill, the sparkle and shine. 
In heart and eyes at a word of thine \ 

The old was buoyant, the old was true. 
The old was brave when the old was new. 
He crowned us often with grace and gift; 
His sternest skies had a deep blue rift, 



408 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Straight and swift, when his hand unclasped, 
With welcome and joyance thine we grasped. 
O tell us, Year — we are fain to know — 
"What is thy charm that we hail thee so ? 

Dost promise much that is fair and sweet— 
The wind's low stir in the rippling wheat, 
The waves' soft plash on the sandy floor, 
The bloom of roses from shore to shore, 
Glance of wings from the bowery nest, 
Music and perfume from east to west, 
Frosts to glitter in jeweled rime, 
Blush of sunrise at morning's prime, 
Stars above us their watch to keep, 
And rain and dew, though we wake or sleep ? 

Once more a voice, and I hear it call 
Like a bugle-note from a mountain wall; 
The pines uplift it with mighty sound, 
The billows bear it the green earth round; 
A voice that rolls in a jubilant song, 
A conqueror's ring in its echo strong; 
Through the ether clear, from the solemn sky 
The New Year beckons, and makes reply: 

" I bring you, friends, what the years have brought 
Since ever men toiled, aspired, or thought — 
Days for labor, and nights for rest; 
And I bring you love, a heaven-born guest; 
Space to work in, and work to do, 
And faith in that which is pure and true. 
Hold me in honor and greet me dear, 
And sooth you'll find me a Happy Year." 



New Year's. 409 

A New Year's Guest. 
Eliza F. Moriarty. 

Oh! lay the burden care aside; 

Laugh idle doubt away, 
And let a blessed guest abide 

Within your heart to-day. 
Its portals, barred by Sorrow's hands, 

With eager welcome ope, 
For on the threshold, waiting, stands 

The New Year's herald, Hope. 

Oh ! lead him to the inner room, 

That none may ever see 
Where, wrapped in self-created gloom, 

Broods lonely Misery. 
Once entered there, his presence bright 

Will glorify the place, 
As morning fills the world with light, 

And leaves of night no trace. 

He knocks — and lo ! — Grief's spell is snapped— 

The portals spring apart — 
And Hope, in rainbow vestments wrapped, 

Seeks shelter in thy heart. 
He heralds Heaven's great gift to thee — 

A year with promise rife — 
Wherein at last fulfilled may be 

The dearest wish of life. 



Address to the New Year 

Dinah Mulock Craik. 

O good New Year ! we clasp 

This warm, shut hand of thine, 
Loosing forever, with half sigh, half grasp, 

That which from ours falls like dead fingers' twine. 



410 Pieces for Every Occasion. 

Ay, whether fierce its grasp 

Has been, or gentle, having been, we know 

That it was blessed: let the old year go. 

Friend, come thou like a friend; 

And, whether bright thy face, 
Or dim with clouds we cannot comprehend, 

We'll hold our patient hands, each in his place, 
And trust thee to the end, 
Knowing thou leadest onwards to those spheres 
Where there are neither days nor months nor years. 



College Men's 
3=minute Declamations 

$1.00— CLOTH, 381 PAGES, WITH INDEX— $1.00 

Here at last is a volume containing just what college 
students have been calling for time out of mind, but 
never could find — something besides the old selections, 
which, though once inspiring, now fail to thrill the 
audience, because declaimed to death! Live topics pre- 
sented by live men ! Full of vitality for prize speaking. 

Such is the matter with which this volume abounds. 
To mention a few names — each speaking in his well- 
known style and characteristic vein : 

Chauncey M. Depew President Eliot {Harvard) 

Abram S. Hewitt George Parsons Lathrop 

Carl Schurz Bishop Potter 

William E. Gladstone Sir Charles Russell 

Edward J. Phelps President Carter ( Williams} 

Benjamin Harrison T. De Witt Talmage 

Grover Cleveland Ex-Pres. White {Cornell) 

General Horace Porter Rev. Newman Smyth 

Doctor Storrs Emilio Castelar 

Here, too, sound the familiar voices of George William Curtis, 
Lowell, Blaine, Phillips Brooks, Beecher, Garfield, Disraeli, Bryant, 
3rady, and Choate. Poets also :— Longfellow, Holmes, Tennyson, 
3yron, Whittier, Schiller, Shelley, Hood, and others. 

More than a hundred other authors besides ! We have not space 
o enumerate. But the selections from them are all just the thing. 
\.nd all the selections are brief. 

In addition to a perspicuous list of contents, the volume contains a com* 
ileie general index by titles and authors ; and also a separate index of 
authors, thus enabling one who remembers only the title to find readily the 
author, or who recalls only the author to find just as readily all of his 
selections. 

Another invaluable feature :— Preceding each selection are given, 
so far as ascertainable, the vocation, the residence, and the dates of 
birth and death of the author ; and the occasion to which we owe the 
oration, or address, or poem. 

Like the companion volume, College Girls' Reading's, this work con 
tains many " pieces " suitable both for girls and boys, and the two books 
may well stand side by side upon the shelf of every student and every 
teacher, ever ready with some selection that is sure to please, and exactly 
suited to the speaker and to the occasion. 



HINDS & NOBLE 
4-5-13-J4 Cooper Institute New York City 

Schoolbooks of all publishers at one stcv* 



CONTENTS COLLEGE MEN'S DECLAMATIONS. I 

cloth — Price $1.00 Postpaid — 382 pages. 

The Two Spies, Andre and Hale Chauncey M. Depew 

Stavoren Helen S. Conant 

Two Cities Herman Grimm 

The Stranger's Alms Henry Abbey 

The Coronation of Anne Boleyn James Anthony Froude 

Cromwell on the Death of Charles the First. Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton 

The Inspiration of Sacrifke .James A. Garjield 

The T wins Robert Browning 

Hector and Achilles Homer 

An Appeal to the People John Bright 

Keenan's Charge George P. Lathrop 

The Coyote Mark Twain 

The Olympic Crown Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton 

The Mission Tea Party Emma Huntington Nason 

Mercy Shakespeai e 

Morituri Salutamus Henry W. Longfellow 

Public Opinion Daniel Webster 

The Destruction of Pompeii Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton 

Abraham Lincoln James Russell Lowell 

Mai Lin Luther Rev. Charles P. Ki auih 

The Brooklyn Bridge Abram S. Hewitt 

The Minute Men of '75 ■ George William Curtis 

Poor Little Joe David L. Proud/it 

The Pilgrim Fathers.... Felicia D. Hemans 

Geology . James D. Dana 

South Carolina and Massachusetts Daniel Webster 

The Monster Cannon Victor Hugo 

Our Country Benjamin Harrison 

The Leper Nathaniel P. Willis 

The Silent Warriors Anonymous 

Ratisbon • Robert Browning 

Old Faiths in New Light Rev. Newman Smyth 

The High Tide at Gettysburg Will H. Thomps. n 

Richelieu and France Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton 

Farewell to England Edward J. Phelps 

The Mysteries of Life Chateaubriand 

The Return of Regulus Elijah Kellogg 

The Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred Tennyson 

The First View of the Heavens Ormsby M. Mitche I 

The Death-Bed of Benedict At nold George Lippard 

The Eve of Waterloo Loid By> on 

A Eulogy on John Bright William E. Gladstone 

Cardinal Wolsey Shakespeare 

The Home Henry W. Grady 

The Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery Abraham Lincoln 

The Pipes at Lucknow John Greenleaf Whittier 

Pain in a Pleasure Boat Thomas Hood 

The Centennial of 1876 William M. Ev arts 

Arnold Winkelried James Montgomery 

Christianity the Law of the Land... Daniel Webster 

Raphael's Account of the Creation John Milton 

Tyre, Venice and England John Ruskin 

Our Flag at Apia Annie Bronsou K,ng 

Defence of the Irish Party Sir Charles Russell 

Das Licht des Auges Sclnllrr 

The Schools and Colleges of Our Country Pres. Chart s W. Fit I 

The Battle of Ivry Lord Macaulay 

The Typical Dutchman Rev. Henry Van Dyke 



CONTENTS COLLEGE MEN'S DECLAMATIONS 



The Narrowness of Specialties .Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton 

The Apple Dumplings and George the Third Dr. John Wolcott 

Alfred the Great to His Men James Sheridan Knowles 

New England Josiah Quincy 

Old Braddock Anonymous 

The Opening of the Brooklyn Biidge Abram S. Hewitt 

Burial of Sir John Moore Charles Wolfe 

The Monarchy cf Caesar Theodor Mommsen 

What's Hallowed Ground? Thomas Campbell 

Reply of Mr. Pitt to Sir Robert Walpole William Pitt 

The ll Grand Advance" Frank H. Gassaway 

An Autobiography Rev. Phillips Brooks 

The Passions William Collins 

Westminster Abbey Washington Irving 

Laugh and the World Laughs with You Anonymous 

Alp's Decision Lord Byron 

The Cloud Percy B Shelley 

Decisive Integrity William Wirt 

Marathon ... Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton 

The American Experiment of Self-Government . . . .Edward Everett 

Equestrian Courtship Thomas Hood 

The Spartans and the Pilgrims Rufus Choate 

The Finding of the Lyre James Russell Lowe 1 1 

The Reign of Napoleon Lamartine 

The Boys Oliver Wendell Holmes 

The Washington Monument Robert C. Winthrop 

Wounded J. W. Watson 

American Rights ... Joseph Warren 

The Constitutional Convention of 1787 . . Chauncey M. Depew 

The Burghers of Calais . Emily A. Braddock 

The Book and the Building Rev. Richard S. Storrs 

The Declaration of Independence Carl Schurz 

The People of the United States Grover Cleveland 

The Hand Rev. T. De Witt Talmage 

Sir Walter's Honor Margaret J. Preston 

American Battle Flags Carl Schurz 

The Chariot Race Sophocles 

The Revolutionary Alarm . ... George Bancroft 

The Sacredness of Work Thomas Carlyle 

Flodden Field Sir Walter Scott 

Death of Garfield James G. Blaine 

Lord Chatham Against the American War William Pitt 

Rienzi to the Romans Mary Russell Mitford 

The Death of Moses John Ruskin 

The Noblest Public Virtue.... Henry Clay 

The Pond Dr. John Byrom 

The Victories of Peace ... Charles Sumner 

Irish Aliens and English Victories Richard L. Sheil 

Warren's Address John Pierpont 

The First View of Mexico William H. Prescott 

The Royalty of Virtue Henry C. Potter 

Marco Bozzaris Fitz-Greene Halleck 

The Future of America Daniel Webster 

Guilty or Not Guilty Anonymous 

Toussaint L'Ouverture Wendell Phillips 

Nations and Humanity George William Curtis 

The Lost Colors Maty A. Barr 

Freedom or Slavery Patrick Henry 

Abraham Lincoln..* Emilio Castelar 



CONTENTS COLLEGE MEN'S DECLAMATIONS. 



Driving Home the Cows Kate Putnam Osgood 

The Sentiment of Reverence President Franklin Carter 

The Trial of Archery Virgil 

The Hero of the Gun Margaret J. Preston 

Chief Justice Marshall Edward J. Phelps 

The First Battle of the Revolution Anonymous 

Last Inaugural of Lincoln 

Ultima Veritas .. Washington Gladden 

The Army of the Potomac Chauncey M Depew 

John Wycliffeand the Bible Rev. Richard S Storrs 

The Fool's Prayer , Edward R. Sill 

Palladium ...„ Matthew Arnold 

The Invisible Heroes Henry Ward Beecher 

Scotland Edmund Flagg 

Non Omnis Moriar Horace 

Crispian's Day Shakespeare 

The Queen of France and the Spirit of Chivalry Edmund Burke 

The Necessity of Independence Samuel Adams 

The Trenton's Cheer to the Calliope Anonymous 

The Battle Schiller 

The First Predicted Eclipse ...Ormsby M. Mitchel 

That Gray, Cold Christmas Day Hezekiah Butteiworth 

Herve Riel Robert Browning 

The Dome of the Republic Andrew D. White 

St. Martin and the Beggar , Margaret E. Sangstet 

The Greatness of the Poet George William Curtis 

The Highland Stranger Sir Walter Scott 

The Black Horse and his Rider George Lippaid 

The Shell Alfred Tennyson 

Youthful Valor Tyrtcvus 

Permanency of Empire.... Wendell Phillips 

A Morning Landscape.... - Sir Walter Scott 

Courage General Horace Porter 

Jerusalem by Moonlight Lord Beaconsfield 

Ode to Duty William Wordsworth 

Caesar Rodney's Ride Elbridge S. Brooks 

The Last Night of Pompeii Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton 

The Palmetto and the Pine Manly H. Pike 

The Two Streams of History Rev. Charles S. Thompson 

Fabius to vEmilius Livy 

The Puritans Lord Macaulay 

The Petrified Fern Mary B. Branch 

The Wonders of the Dawn. : Edward Everett 

A Retrospect Richard D. Hubbard 

The Sovereignty of the People Edward J. Phelps 

The Lights of Lawrence Ernest W. Shurtleff 

Decoration Day Address at Arlington James A. Garfield 

Character of Justice Richard Bnnsley Sheridan 

American History Gulian C. Verplanck 

The Prayer of Agassiz John GreenleaJ Whit tier 

The Present Age Victor Hugo 

The Temper and Aim of the Scholar William E. Gladstone 

Opportunity Edward R. Sill 

The Supreme Court and the Constitution Henry Hitchcock 

The Pndeof Battery "B" Frank H. Gassaway 

The Marble Queen Susan Coohdge 

A Boy's Remonstrance Charles Petty 

The Toadstool Oliver Wendell Holmes 

Independence Bell Anonymous 



CONTENTS COLLEGE MEN'S DECLAMATIONS. 



In School-Days Jo>. n Greenleaf Whittier 

A Story of the Barefoot Boy , . . . , J. T. Trowbridge 

The Drummer Boy Anonymous 

The Spinner Mrs. Clara D. Bates 

Trifles J. T. Trowbridge 

At Play . . . . . Anonymous 

Tommybob's Thanksgiving Vision ...Anna M. Pratt 

The Lost Child Anonymous 

The Nightingale and Glow-Worm William Cowper 

The Fringed Gentian Will. am Cullen Bryant 

Playing Bo-Peep with the Star Anonymous 

The Brook Alfred Tennyson 

Freaks of the Frost Hannah Flagg Gould 

The Fire-Fly Susan Coolidge 

The Kitten of the Regiment James Buckham 

The Shining Little House Anonymous 

The Council Held by the Rats La Fontaine 

The Motherless Turkeys .Marian Douglas 

The Children's Hour Henry W. Longfellow 

The Will and the Way John G. Saxe 

Mercy's Reply , Anonymous 



If you're looking for a " piece to speak*' 

we don' t know of any kind of ' ' effort, ' ' from the school - 
boy's "recitation" or the schoolgirl's "reading," and 
along through the w T hole school and college career, down 
to the " response to toasts" at the last " class dinner," 
that is not provided for among : — 

Commencement Parts, including " efforts " for all other 

occasions. $1.50. 
Pros and Cons. Both sides of live questions. $1.50. 
New "Dialogues and Plays. For school and parlor. $1.50. 
College Men's Three-Minute Declamations. $1.00. 
College Maids* Three-Minute Readings. $1.00. 
Pieces for Prize-Speaking Contests. $1.00. 
Acme Declamation Book. Paper, 30c. Cloth, 50c. 
Handy Pieces to Speak. 108 on separate cards. 50c. 
List of ' ' Contents ' ' of any or all of above free on request. 



HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers, 
4-5- 13-14 Cooper Institute, Hew York City. 

Schoolbooks of all publishers at one store. 



Fenno's Science and Art of Elocution 



Row to Read and Speak 



Theory and Practice Cojnbined 

The Science and Art of Elocution. Embracing 
a comprehensive and systematic series of exer- 
cises for gesture, calisthenics and the cultivation 
of the voice, together with a collection of nearly 
150 Literary Gems for Reading and Speaking. 
Arranged in four parts and designed to be used as 
a text-book in the class room and for private study, 
as well as for the use of Readers and Speakers 
generally. By Frank S. Fenno, A.M., F.S.Sc, 
graduate of The National School of Elocution 
and Oratory, compiler of " Fenno's Favorites for 
Reading and Speaking," author of "The Chart 
of Elocution," "Lectures on Elocution," etc., etc. 
Price, $1.25. 

Designed to be Used as a Text-book 
and for Private Study 



HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers 
4-5-6-J243-H Cooper Institute New York Gty 

School Books of All Publishers at One Store 



College Girls* 
Three-minute Readings 

%\. 00— CLOTH, 500 PAGES, WITH INDEX— $1.00 

Here is a volume for American girls by American 
women — an ideal long in demand, now realized for the 
first time. In this book patriotism is the keynote domi- 
nating a series of new, fresh, speahadle selections, pathetic, 
humorous, descriptive, oratorical ; running, in fact, 
the gamut of the emotions. A book for the American 
girl and the American young woman in the college, the 
high school, the academy, and the home. 

This new book is new in every sense of the word, but 
particularly in voicing the golden thoughts of scores of 
the living representative women of America— women edu- 
cators, women philanthropists, women reformers. 

Here is a partial list of the contributors : 

Mrs. A. Giddings Park " Susan Coolidge " 

Eva Lovett Cameron {Brooklyn Eagle) Agnes E. Mitchell 
Edith M.Thomas Rev. AnnaH Shaw 

Emma Lazarus Margaret Junkin Preston 

Adelaide Procter Amelia Barr 

Celia Thaxter Norah Perry 

Christina Rossetti Aiice Gary 

Anna Robertson Lindsay Adeline Whitney 

J. Ellen Foster Emily Warren 

Margaret E. Sangster Lucy Larcom 

Clara Barton Ella Wheeler Wilcox 

Frances E. Willard Harriet Beecher Stowe 

Kate Douglas Wiggin Marv Mapes Dodge 

Isabel A. Mallon (Ladies Home Journal) " Gail Hamilton " 
and there are many others. 

A brief note, happily worded, conveying information not to be 
found elsewhere, regarding the author or the occasion, accompanies 
most of the selections. 

Teachers will find selections appropriate to Memorial Day, Arbor 
Day, Washington's Birthday, and all other patriotic occasions. And 
from the pages of this book speak the voices of many of our 
presidents, from Washington to McKinley. 

Besides a perspicuous list of contents, the volume contains a complete gen- 
eral index by titles and authors; and also a separate index of authors, thus 
enabling one who remembers only the title to find readily the author, or 
who recalls only the author to find just as readily all of her selections. 

Like the companion volume, College Men's Declamations, this work 
contains many "pieces" suitable both for girls and boys, and the two books 
may well stand side by side upon the shelf of every student and every 
teacher, ever ready with some selection that is sure to please, and exactly 
suited to the speaker and to the occasion. 



HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers 
4-5-J3-J4 Cooper Institute New York City 



CONTENTS COLLEGE GIRLS' READINGS. I 

cloth— Price $1.00 Postpaid — 506 pages. 

DESCRIPTIVE. 

A Tragedy of the North Sea .Joseph C.Powell 

Be True Robert Colly er 

Children's Rights Kate D. W. Riggs 

Country Life Robert G. Ingersoll 

Gareth Alfred Tennyson 

My Great Aunt's Portrait ... Ano?iymous 

Life on the Moon Herbert A. Howe 

The Bell Benjamin F. Taylor 

The Field of Culloden William Winter 

The Fisherman's Hut Charles T. Brooks 

The Fragrant Timber of Her Fan Henrv Hanby Hay 

The Minuet Mary Mapes Dodge 

The Nature of True Eloquence Daniel Webster 

The Prairie Fire C. W. Hall 

The Queen's Year /. N. F. (JV. Y. Tribune) 

The Skee Race Hjalmar Boyesen 

The Wanderer's Night Song Thos. C. Porter ( Goethe) 

Victoria Alfred Austin 

DRAMATIC. 

An Unknown Hero Ernest L. Bog art 

Brier Rose Hjalmar H. Boyesen 

David Shaw, Hero fames Buckham 

Five Minutes with a Mad Dog W. Pocklington 

Herve Riel Robert Browning 

London House Tops E. Bulwer Lytton 

Mona's Waters Anonymous 

Nathan Hale Francis M. Finch 

The Angels of Buena Vista , fohn G. Whittier 

The Atlantic Cable „ .James Thomas Fields 

Th e Ballad of East an d West Rudyard Kipling 

The Battle of Germantown .George Lippard 

The Cardinal's Soliloquy E. Bulwer Lytton 

The Colonel's Story Robert C. Rogers 

The Drop of Water.... «. Harry Stackpole 

The Fight of Paso Del Mar Bayard Taylor 

The Gladiator Anonymous 

The Island of the Scots W. E. Aytoun 

The Light on Dead Man's Ear E n E. Rexford 

ThelTewSouth . ::ry W. Grady 

The Rising in 1775 Thomas B. Reed 

The Unknown Speaker Anonymous 

HUMOROUS. 

A Difficult Problem C. W Thurston 

Ego et Echo „ John G dfrey Saxe 

Mouse Hunting 00. A/a y A. Dodgj 

My Sister Hac a Beau.. ; Roy F. Greene 

Sir Cupid... F. E. Weatherly 

The Ballad of Titus Labicnus Laura E. Richards 

The " Best Room " . , O. IV. Holmes 

The Thirty-Nine Lovers L»ndo?i Graphic 

Case of Go Hang in dialect Anonymous 

" Little Orphant Annie" in dialect James W.Riley 

Mr. Haines' Able Argument, in dialect.... Recited by Col. E. B. Hay 

Muckle Mouth Meg IN dialect Robert Browning 

Nebuchadnezzar ill dialect Irwin Russeli 

Topsy. IF dialect, Harriet Beecher Stowe 



CONTENTS COLLEGE GIRLS' READINGS. 



JUVENILE. 

A Brave Little Girl Anonymous 

Djn't Give Up Phoebe Cary 

Dorothy's Mustn'ts Ella Wheeler Wilcox 

Down in the Strawberry Bed Clinton Scollard 

Her Grandpa Charles D. Stewart 

Her Majesty Edgar Wade Abbot 

In the King's Gardens Abbie E . Brown 

Little Blue Ribbons Henry A. Bob son 

Lullaby .. Thomas Davidson 

One, Two, Three ! Henry Cuyler Bunner 

The Little Girl that Grew Up Anonymous 

The Wonderful Weaver Anonymous 

NATIONAL HOLIDAYS. 
(a) Arbor Day. 

Fern Song JohnB. Tabb 

The Earth's First Mercy John Ru skin 

Who Plants a Tree Lucy Lar com 

(b) Fourth of July {See Patriotic). 

(c) Memorial Day. 

Address at Gettysburg , Abraham Lincoln 

Arlington James A . Garfield 

Decoration Day Hezekiah Butterworth 

Decoration Day .. . Susie M. Best 

Memorial Day Address W. Jennings Bryan 

The Oreat Remembrance Richard Watson Gilder 

The Meaning of Victory Charles D evens 

The Nation's Dead Anonymous 

Two Colors ... Recited by Col. E. B. Hay 

(d) Washington's Birthday (See Patriotic). 
NATURE. 

An October Morning R. D. Blackmore 

Discontent .. Anonymous 

Nature Edwai d Everett 

Round . . Charles Dickens 

The Maryland Yellow-Throat Henry Van Dyke 

The Thrush's Song W. Macgillivray 

When the Bloom is on the Heather Peter Grant 

(a) ORATORICAL. 

Abraham Lincoln . . M. W. Stryker 

Arbitration and Civilization Sir Charles Russell 

A Retrospect . Henry Watterson 

Christian Citizenship Wendell Phillips 

Declaration of Rights .. . ... Henry Grattan 

Higher Education for Women ChaunceyM. Depew 

Labor Thomas Carlyle 

Moral Law for Nations John Bright 

National Life . Rufus Choate 

Opportunity to Labor .. Thomas Brackett Reed 

Peace Charles Sumner 

Public Opinion .. Wendell Phillips 

Tariff Reform « William L. Wilson 

The Age of Improvement Daniel Webster 

The Battle of Benningtdn Edward J. Phelps 

The Bunker Hill Monument , Louis Kossuth 

The Constitution W W.Henry 

The Puritans Herman L. Wayland 



CONTENTS COLLEGE GIRLS' READINGS. 



The Reformer Horace Greeley 

The Teaching of the Colleges Set h Low 

Two Voices , David J. Brewer 

What is a Minority? John B. Gough 

Woman's Rights George W. Curtis 

Zenobia's Defense William Ware 

(b) ORATORICAL AND EULOGISTIC. 

Daniel Webster George F. Hoar 

Grant at Appomattox Eugene H. Levy 

Grant , the Soldier and Statesman William McKinley 

The Faith of Washington Frederic R. Coudert 

The Hero-President Horace Porter 

The Martyr-Spy Charles D. Warner 

The Monument of William Penn Robert J. Burdette 

PATHETIC. 

A Christmas Camp on the San Gabr'el Amelia E. Barr 

A Court Lady i E. B. Browning 

A Legend of Bregenz Adelaide A . Proctor 

An Order for a Picture Alice Cary 

At the Barricade Victor M. Hugo 

Daisy Emily Warren 

Euthanasia Margaret J. Preston 

Father's Voice Anonymous 

His Mother's Song Anonymous 

Jim Nora Perry 

Little Boy Blue Eugene Field 

O Captain! My Captain Walt Whitman 

One of God's Little Heroes Margaret J. Preston 

Our Homemaker A.D.T. Whitney 

Over the Crossing Anonymous 

Poor-House Nan Lucy M. Blum 

Positively the Last Performance Recited by Col. E. B. Hay 

The Boy of the House Jean Blewett 

The Relief of Lucknow Robert T.S.Lowell 

PATRIOTIC. 

American Nationality Rufus Choate 

American Patriotism Horace Porter 

Chorus of Islanders Alfred Austin 

Columbia Edward Chapman 

Columbia's Banner Edna Dea n Proctor 

England and Her Colonies Edmund Burke 

Liberty and Union Daniel Webster 

Marmara Clara Barton 

Now or Never O. W.Holmes 

Our Country Benjamin Harrison 

OurCountry J G. Whiitier 

Patriotism Hannah More 

Patriot Sons of Patriot Sires Samuel Francis Smith 

Paul Revere's Ride H. W.Longfellow 

The Blue and Gray Frances E. Vrtllard 

The College and the Nation G rover Cleveland 

The Glorious Constitution Daniel U ebster 

The Hope of the Nation /. C.Schurman 

The Lone Star of Cuba David Graham Adee 

The Love of Home Henry W. Grady 

The Man Without a Country Edward Everett Hale 

The Nashville Exposition William McKinle) 



CONTENTS COLLEGE GIRLS' READINGS. 



The National Flag; Henry Ward Beecher 

The National Hymn Janet E. H. Richards 

The New Americanism... Henry Watterson 

The New Patriotism Richard II 'at son Gilder 

The Spartans' March F. D. Hemans 

Washington Eliza Cook 

Washington John Paul Bocock 

Washington and the Nation William McKinley 

Washington's Birthday ME. Sangster 

(a) REFLECTIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 

Americanism Theodore Roosevelt 

A Song of the Camp Bayard Taylor 

Close to Ninety J H. Bryant 

Consider C G. Rossetti 

Liberty E. M. Thomas 

Liberty Joh?i Hay 

Loyalty to Truth Anna H. Shaw 

Mater Amabilis Emma Lazarus 

My Rights Sarah C. Woolsey (" Susan Coolidge ") 

The Happiest Time in Life Richard Salter Storrs 

The Lady of the Castle Anonymous 

The New Woman . E. Matheson 

The Sand-Piper Celia Thaxter 

The Shell Alfred Tennyson 

The Tendencies of Self-Government Lyman Abbott 

Though He Slay Albion W, Tourgee 

Three Days in the Life of Columbus . Delavigne 

What is Worth While? Anna R Lindsay 

When the Cows Come Home Agnes E. Mitchell 

Woman as Friend John Lord 

Woman in Politics /. Ellen Foster 

(fi) REFLECTIVE AND PHILOSOPHICAL. 

All Things Shall Pass Away Theodore Tilton 

Education John Ruskin 

Graduation Phillips Brooks 

Imagination and Fancy Charles C. Everett 

International Good Will New York Tribune 

Longing James Russell Lowell 

Self-Dependence Matthew Arnold 

Tempered Sarah C. Woolsey (" Susan Coolidge ") 

Thanatopsis . . . William C. Bryant 

The Chambered Nautilus * ' * * Oliver Wendell Holmes 

The Wisest Fool Eva Lovett 

To a Skeleton Anonymous 

{a) SENTIMENTAL. 

April's Fools Mrs. A. Giddings Park 

Aunt Tabitha Ano?iymous 

Lucinda's Fan . Frank Lebby Stanton 

My Delftware Maid Ralph Alton 

The Cane-Bottomed Chair. William M. Thackeray 

The Tell-Tale Anonymous 

(b) SENTIMENTAL AND PATHETIC. 

A Doctor of the Old School Dr. John Watson (" Lan Maclaren") 

< iinevra Samuel Rogers 

The Night Watch.... Francois E.J. Coppee 

'Uncle Todd" , Lsabel A. Mallon 



H ten Weeks' Course in elocution 



By J. V. Coombs, formerly Professor of English Literature and 
Elocution in Eureka College, Eureka, 111. Assisted by Virgil A. 
Pinkley, Principal of the Department of Elocution in School of Music, 
Cincinnati, Ohio. Revised and Enlarged by C. H. Harne, Professor 
of Elocution and Reading in Salina Normal University, Salina, Kan- 
sas. Cloth, 415 Pages. Price, $1.23. 

Many good books on the Theory of Elocution have 
been published — choice selections are plentiful, but very 
few authors have combined, with the Essentials of Elocu- 
tion, a good variety of proper exercises for practice. In 
Part I, the author has briefly outlined the best way to teach 
a beginner to read. Part II contains a full discussion of 
Dictionary Work, the value of which cannot be over- 
estimated. Part III contains helpful suggestions to 
Teachers of Elocution. Part IV (the largest and most 
important part) contains a thorough discussion of the 
Elements of Elocution, each principle being carefully 
considered. Part V comprises a splendid collection of 
Humorous, Dramatic and Oratorical selections for prac- 
tice — the whole being an ideal work for teachers to use 
with classes which have only a brief period of time to 
devote to the subject. 

The chapters devoted to Elocution have been so 
divided that they can be easily completed by a class in 
ten weeks' time as follows : 

1st "Week. Outline of Elocution 

2d Week. Respiration and Breathing 

3rd Week. Physical Culture (Calisthenics) 

4th Week. Articulation 

5th Week. Orthoepy (Pronunciation) 

6th Week. Vocal Culture 

7th Week. Qualities of the Voice 

8th Week. The Art of Vocal Expression 

9th Week. Gesture 

JOth Week. Gesture 

A great variety of selections, Humorous, Dramatic 
and Oratorical, illustrating the various principles studied, 
immediately follow the Lessons. These are to be used to 
test the work that is done by the class from week to week. 

Sample copies will be furnished to Teachers 0/ Elocution and 
classes supplied at $i±oo. 

HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers 
4-5-642-13-f 4 Cooper Institute - - New York City 

School Books 0/ All Publishers at One Store 



Commencement Parts. 

cloth — Price $1.50 Postpaid — twelvemo 

Here is a book full of the real thing, and con- 
taining nothing but the real thing / 

The models here — every one a complete address 
■ — are not composed by the compiler to show what 
he would say if he should happen to be called on for 
a class poem, or an ivy song ; a valedictory, or an 
oration ; a response to a toast, an essay, a recitation . or 
what-not. Not at all! But every one of the " effort* 5 ' 
in this book is real — in the sense that it is what some 
one did do on the particular occasion when he actu- 
ally had to stand up and speak. This entitles them 
to be designated models in a genuine sense. 

If you are called upon, for any occasion (no 
matter what) during your whole high-school or college 
career, and wish a model to show how some one else 
has risen to a similar opportunity, we think you will 
discover by a glance at the list of contents of Com- 
mencement Parts some illustration of exactly what 
you require. Note also the lists of class mottoes, 
subjects for orations, essays, themes, toasts, etc. 

Besides the above we publish also the following, of interest to 
those who have to ' ' appear in public on the stage. ' ' And we can' t 
think of any "effort" throughout one's whole career that is not 
provided for — from the little tot's first curt'sy, and along through 
the school and college years, to the debate of important civi<? 
problems by the adult before his fellow citizens :— 

Tros and Cons. Both sides of live question^. $1.50. 
Playable Plays. For school and parlor. $1.50. 
College Men's Three-Minute Declamations. $1.00. 
College Maids'" Three-Minute Readings. $1.00. 
Pieces for Prize-Speaking Contests. $1.00. 
Acme Declamation Book. Paper, 30c. Cloth, 50c. 
Handy Pieces to Speak. 108 on separate cards. 50c. 
Ust of " Contents " of any or all of above free on request if you mention 
this ad. 
HIHDS & NGBLE, Publishers, 
4-5-I3-I4 Cooper Institute, B. Y. City. 

Schoolbooks of all publishers at one store. 



Contents of " Commencement Parts/' 

J. Introduction to Commencement Parts. 

2* The Orator and the Oration* 

(<z) The Orator. 

{&) The Oration. 

(c) The Parts of the Oration. 

3* Commencement Parts. 

(/) A Latin Salutatory. De Nostro Cum Aliis CivitatibuS 
Agencii Modo. 

(2) Orations. 

(a) American Ideals. 

(b) Culture and Service. 
Education as Related to Civic Prosperity. 

!d) Hebraism and Culture. 

\e) Marc Antony. 

\f) Modern Knighthood. 

\g) The Negro and the South. 

'A) The Decisive Battle of the Rebellion. 

i) The University and True Patriotism. 
\j) The Discipline of Life and Character. 

k) The Liberalistic Temper. 
(/) The Spirit that Should Animate. 
(///) Reverence Due from the Old to the Young. 
Appropriate Subjects for the Oration (1-136). 
Valedictories. 

(a) " Perduret atque Valeat" (Latin), 
' b\ Service. 

c) For a Dental College. 
\d) For a College. 
(e) For a School. 
(/; For a College. 
(or) Good Day. 

LIBERALISM. 
(5) Mixed Valedictory and Oration : Catholicity. 

4e Class Day Exercises. 

(/) Introduction. 
(^) Class Poems. 

(a) O Years You Have Vanished. 

(l>) The Breath of the Spirit, 

(c) Home. 

(d) A Vision. 

(e) Alma Mater. 

(3) President's Address, 
(^r) Salutatory. 



8) 



4. Class Day Exercises {continued). 

(j) Dux's Speech. 

(<5) Ivy Oration. 

(7) Class Song. 

(8) Ivy Oration. 
(V) Class Will. 

(10) Ivy Oration. 

(//) Ivy Poem. 

(12) Ivy Song. 

(ij) Class Oration — The Old and New. 

(14) Washington's Birthday Oration. 

(15) Presentation Oration. 

(16) Class Oration — Abraham Lincoln. 
(i?) Class Mottoes (1-42). 

5. The Composition and Essay. 

(/) Introductory Suggestions. 

(a) Model Outline of Composition. 

(b) Model Outline of Essay. 

(c) Brief Essay. 
(2) Compositions. 

(a) Autumn. 

(b) What Makes the Sky Blue? 

(c) The Beauties of Nature. 

(d) Winter Leaves, 
(j) Essays. 

(a) Beatrice. (Character Study.) 

(b) Independent Character. (Descriptive.) 

(c) Ruskin's "Ethics of the Dust." (Critical.) 

(d) Edward Rowl and Sill. (Literary.) 

(e) Intellectual Improvement, an Aid to the Im- 

agination. (Philosophical Disputation.) 

(f) The Survival of the Fittest in Literature. 

(Literary Discussion.) 

(g) "Una." (Analytical.) 

(A) Thomas Chatterton. (Prize College Essay.) 
(?) Kipling's Religion. (Literary.) 
(/) The Reaction Against the Classic?. (Colloquy.) 
\k) Memory's Message. (Dedicatory.) 
(7) Manual Training and Intellectual Develop- 
ment. (Normal School Prize Essay.) 
(m) True Nobility. (A College Prize Essay.) 

{j) Subjects for Composition. 
{a) Narrative (1-35). 
\b) Descriptive (1-55). 

(j) Themes for Essays (1-53). 



6. After-Dinner Speaking. 

(z) Introductory Suggestions. 

(2) An Address of Welcome at an Alumni Dinner (I» 

Honor of ihe College President). 
^3) Response to a Toast, " Yale and Princeton." 
{J) Response to a Toast, " The Puritan and the Dutcn- 

man." 

(5) Response to a Toast, " The Plain People." 

(6) Response to a Toast, "Woman." 

(7) Response to a Toast, " A Business Man's Political 

Obligations." 
(<?) Response to a Toast, " The Sovereignty of the United 

States." 
(9) Response to a Toast, " Recollection the Strongest In- 
fluence." 
( to) Response to a Toast, " The Future of the Nation." 
1 11) An After-Dinner Story. 
\j2) A List of Toasts (1-40). 

7. Flag Day. 

(/) Introduction. 

(2) Recitation for a Boy or Girl. 

(j>) Recitation — Our Country. 

( i) Recitation — The Stars and Stripes, 

(j) Address— Old Glory. 

(6) Address — The Voice of the Flag. 

8. \7ords of the National Airs. 

(/) Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean. 

(.?) Hail Columbia. 

(j>) America. 

\l) The Star-Spangled Banner. 

(j) Our Flag is There. 



9, Speeches f jf National Holidays, 

(/) Independence Day Address. 

(2) Lift up Your Hearts. (Fourth of July.) 

(j) Lincoln the Immortal. (Lincoln's Birthday.) 

(4) Washington's Birthday Address. 
(j") Washington's Birthday. 

(6) Tree Planting. (A Poem for Arbc . Day.) 

(7) Decoration Day Address. 

(5) Memorial Day Ode — Our Honored Dead. 



'0. Occasional Addresses* 
(i) Religious. 

(a) Growth. An Address before a Christian 

Endeavor Convention. 
(J>) To be Kings among Men. A Chapel Ad- 
dress by a College President. 
(<r) The Culture of the Imagination. Address be- 
fore a Young Men's Christian Association. 
(*) Political. 

(a) The Cross of War. Delivered in the Con- 
gress of the United States. 
(£) Heroes of the " Maine Disaster." Delivered 
to the National House of Representatives. 
(j) Social. 

(a) The Obligations of Wealth. A Washington' s 

Birthday Address. 

(b) An Address to Northern and Southern Vet- 

erans at Chickamauga. 
(3) An Address before the Order of Elks. 

(c) A Poem for a Silver Wedding. 

(d) An Address at the Dedication of a Memorial 

Tablet. 

(<f) Presentation of a Elag to a Regiment Depart- 
ing for War. 

(_/") Presentation Address to a Foreman by a 
Workman. 
(/) Educational. 

(a) The Higher Education. An Address before 

a Body of Educators. 

(b) Dedication of a School Building. An Address 

of Welcome. 
(<:) Wealth and Progress. An Address at the 

Dedication of a Public Building. 
(aQ An Address on Presenting the Keys of a New 

School Building. 
(<?) An Address to a School Graduating Class by 

a Teacher. 
(/) Remarks to a Graduating Class of Young 

Ladies by a Visitor. 
(jf) An Address to a Graduating Class of Nurses. 
(/£) Address to a School Graduating Class by a 

Clergyman. 
(/) Dedication of a Public Library. 
(J) Address to a Graduating Class by a Financier. 
{k) Address before an Educational Convention. 

Foreign Influence upon American Uni. 

versity Life. 



iO« Occasional Addresses {continued). 

(/) Success in Life. An Address before a Busi- 
ness College. 

(m) Address before a College Graduating Class. 

In) Inaugural Address of a President of a Uni- 
versity. 

(o) An Address on Receiving the Degree of 
Doctor of Laws from a University. 

(J>) The Presiding Officer's Address at a College 
Debate. 

(^) The Influence of the Great Teacher. An 
Address before College Alumni. 

(r) Response of a College Professor to a Compli- 
mentary Resolution. 
(f) Festival Days. 

(«) A Thanksgiving Speech. 

(b) A Thanksgiving Day Address. 

(c) An Exercise Around the Christmas Tree, 

(d) A Mock Menu for a March Banquet. 
(<?) A Banquet Menu. 

if) A Thanksgiving Song. 
(6) Miscellaneous Abstracts. 

(a) At the Dedication of a Hall of Science and 

Art. 
{&) Response to a Toast, " Noblesse Oblige."—- 

(Phi Beta Kappa Banquet.) 
{c) Grand Army Speech. 



Pros and Cons 

Ifirmative and the Negative of the Questions Of Th 
in the form of 

Complete Debates 



cloth— Price $1.50 Postpaid— twelvemo 

Something new, something practical, something up-to-date. 
A book that exactly fits into these last years of this wonderfiY 
last decade of the passing century. 

Besides giving complete directions for the organization ana 
the conduct of Debiting Societies in accordance with parliamen 
tary procedure, this book in many of its debates presents the 
speakers as actually addressing their hearers from " the floor," 

each speaker in turn with his arguments the first speakers 

for the affirmative and the negative in turn ; then the second 
speakers in turn ; in some cases, the third speakers ; and then 
the summing up by the leaders. 

The array of arguments thus marshalled constitutes an intelli- 
gent and intelligible statement of every principle and every fact 
affecting the questions debated, thus providing not < nly an ex- 
haustive study of each question enabling a thorough mastery of it 
for knowledge sake, but also furnishing a thoroughly instructive 
and decidedly lively and entertaining program for an evening's 
pleasure and profit. 

Among the important topics discussed are the following : — 

Government Control. Immigration. 

Our Foreign Policy. The License Question, 

The Tariff. The Suffrage. 

The Currency Question. Postage, 

Transportation. Our Commercial Policy. 

And many others. 

There is also a list of " questions" suitable for debate, several of 
which are 'briefly outlined,'" to assist the student to prepare and to 
deliver his own " effort." 

Essays and orations, many of them suitable for commencement 
parts, Salutatory and Valedictory 1 addresses, supplement the debates, 
the whole providing for the student at college and the high school 
scholar, the parent at home, and the man of affairs, just that equip- 
ment that one needs not only for thinking out the questions that every- 
body is talking about, but for arguing them in a convincing manner. 

HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers 
4-S-J3-J4 Cooper Institute New York City 

Schoolbooks of all publishers it one stof 



Contents of "Pros and Cons." 



SBCTION PAGH 

I. How to Organize a Society, I 

II. Rules Governing Debates, . . . .12 

III. Introductory Observations, .... 15 

IV. Political Economy, ..... 24 

Questions Fully Discussed in the Affirmative and the Negative. 
V. Resolved, That the Single Gold Standard Is for 

the Best Interests of the Country, . . 28 
VI. Should Cuba be Annexed to the United States? 61 
VII. Resolved, That the Fear of Punishment Has a 
Greater Influence on Human Conduct than 
Hope of Reward, ..... 77 
VIII. Resolved, That the United States should Adopt 

Penny Postage, ..... 86 

IX. Resolved, That High License Is the Best Means 

of Checking Intemperance, ... 94 

X. Should the Government of the United States 

Own and Control the Railroads? . 1 06 

XL Should Hawaii have been Annexed to the U. S. ? 122 
XII. Resolved, That Woman Suffrage should Be 
Adopted by an Amendment to the Constitu- 
tion of the United States, . . . .127 

XIII. Resolved, That the World Owes more to Navi- 

gation than to Railroads, - . . .135 

XIV. Resolved, That the United States should Build 

and Control the Nicaragua Canal, . . 148 
XV. Resolved, That Tariff for Revenue Only Is of 
Greater Benefit to the People of the United 
States Than a Protective Tariff, . .160 
XVI. Resolved, That the Expensive Social Entertain- 
ments of the Wealthy Are of More Benefit 
than Injury to the Country, . . .172 
XVII. Resolved, That the Hypocrite Is a More Des- 
picable Character than the Liar, . .179 
XVIII. Resolved, That the Government of the United 
States should Own and Control the Tele- 
phone and Telegraph Systems, . . . 185 
XIX Resolved, That the Average Young Man of 
To-day Has Greater Opportunities to make 
Life a Success Financially than His Fore- 
fathers, *99 

XX. Is Immigration Detrimental to the United States? 206 
XXI. Are Large Dept. Stores an Injury to the Country ? 21.9 



Contents of "Pros and Cons." 



S3CTION PAGK 

XXII. Should Greenbacks Be Retired and the Gov- 
ernment Go Out of Its Present System 
of Banking? ..... 232 

XXIII. Resolved, That Our Present System of Tax- 

ation is the Best that Can Be Devised, 250 

XXIV. Should the President and Senate of the U . S. be 

Elected by Direct Vote of the People? 258 
XXV. Resolved, That It Is Not Good Policy for 
the Government of the United States to 
Establish a System of Postal Savings, 286 

Questions Outlined. 
XXVI. Resolved, That It is for the Best Interests 
of All the People for the Government to 
Own and Control the Coal Mines, . 318 
XXVII. Resolved, That Trusts and Monopolies Are 
a Positive Injury to the People Finan- 
cially, ...... 327 

XXVIII. Resolved, That Cities should Own and Con- 
trol All the Public Franchises Now 
Conferred upon Corporations, . . 337 

XXIX. Resolved, That Education as It Is Now 
Thrust upon our Youth Is Dangerous to 
Health and Good Government, . 35 1 

XXX. Resolved, That National Banks should Be 

Abolished, 358 

XXXI Resolved, That Bi-metallism and Not Pro- 
tection is the Secret of Future Pros- 
perity, ...... 366 

Subjects for Debate. 
XXXII. Two Hundred and Fifty Selected Topics for 

Discussion, ..... 376 



Addresses for Salutatory, Valedictory, and other occasions. 


XXXIII. 


Oration — Decoration Day, 


401 


KXXIV. 


Essay — February 22, .... 


407 


XXXV. 


Salutatory — Life, ..... 


420 


XXXVI. 


Oration — Fourth of July, .... 


426 


.KXXVII. 


Valedictory, ...... 


434 


XXXVIII. 


Address — Christmas Eve, .... 


440 


XXXIX. 


A Temperance Address — The Nickel Behind 






the Bar, 


444 


XL. 


Essay — Coait Defenses, .... 


45o 



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